A Casual Christmas Carousal
by dalekchung
Summary: Tom invites Alex's Facebook friends to a holiday party. Brought to you by the authors of Spyfest (dalekchung, Zyzyax, wolfern, flowersforzoe, Nightshade2412, cuby18, and EpicFangirl46)!
1. Tom Harris

**A/N:** Hello all and happy 2019! We're starting this year off RIGHT with a holiday fic written by your friendly neighborhood AR authors. That's right! This year, Spyfest brings to you a fun collab fic, filled with hectic mischief and ships you never knew existed. Updates every week-ish. Please give every author the love they deserve!

 **Disclaimer:** Alex Rider and all its discontinuities belong to Anthony Horowitz

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1\. TOM HARRIS

AUTHOR: dalekchung

* * *

The best thing about being terrible in school was that no one ever batted an eye at Tom's erratic decisions, most of which involved conveniently 'forgetting' to do his homework. Usually, his impulsive decisions consisted of football practice or hanging out with his best mates, but today was different. It was bloody cold outside, complete with icy roads and heavy snow, meaning kicking a football around was unfortunately out of the question. Alex was off, up to who-knew-what. His friend had gotten quieter and more serious since the last time he had disappeared. Tom could never fully relate to the kickass teenage spy, but he couldn't blame Alex for withdrawing, however slightly. He was probably sad—torn up from his adventures overseas. Tom frowned. He assumed it was overseas anyway. Alex didn't tell him much, but he imagined it so. There was probably a damsel in distress he couldn't save—a poor, innocent soul. Tom paused in his thoughts once more. Perhaps getting caught up in his own imagination wasn't the best idea. Regardless, Tom wanted to help Alex. And what better way to do that than to throw a _massive_ party, complete with cute girls, booze, and loud music? A grin unfurled itself on Tom's face. Yes, that sounded perfect.

Yet, Tom paused as he reached for his cell phone. Would Alex really appreciate such a party? Alex was the quiet type of person, always preferring a small group of close friends rather than a large one. So, probably not. But Tom sure would. He would make sure to drop a hint next time they had a serious conversation.

Shaking his head, Tom picked up his phone, dialing a number with a few impatient taps.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"So rude," Tom stuck his tongue out at his phone, despite the fact that the other couldn't see him. He brought the phone back to his ear, "You wound me, James."

"Yeah, yeah," James sounded like he couldn't care less. Faintly, in the background, Tom could hear indistinct shouting and muffled gunshots. "I'm about to win this game, so this better be important."

Tom shook his head fondly, as if James was a young child. What else would he be doing? It was the holidays, after all. No school, no homework (that Tom cared to do, anyway).

"It's about Alex."

A pause. Tom heard the frantic smashing of buttons, "What about him?"

"Don't you think he looks stressed? Tired? Maybe a little sad?" Tom asked.

"No, no, _NO_!" the last word was a scream. Tom pulled his ear away from the phone, a little taken aback.

"Okay, you didn't have to be so angry about it," he muttered into the receiver.

A sigh, "You just made me lose, Harris. I'm kicking your arse next time I see you."

"I didn't make you do anything," Tom shot back, only half joking. "You're just naturally a—"

"If you finish that sentence, you're dead," James said flatly. Tom could hear the underlying amusement in his voice. The playfulness dissipated with another sigh. "Yeah, Alex has been a little distant lately. I thought it had to do with whatever he does when he misses school."

"Maybe," Tom pretended to muse along. "But anyway, I was thinking we could do something to cheer him up. You know, show him that we're there for him. I just don't know what we could do."

"Throw a party?" James suggested.

Tom perked up, "That's what I was thinking! A ton of people, alcohol, smokin' hot—"

"—not what I meant," James cut in. "I meant like, a family party. It's the holidays. Holidays are about people who are close to you, am I right?"

Tom pondered over the idea for a long minute, "James. You might be a genius."

Pleased, James replied, "I try."

"We should plan a party—all for Alex!" Tom bounced on his bed, excited at the prospect. "Who should we invite? He's not very close with our classmates. Oh, maybe we should ask Jack first. She knows him best, and oh, she'll have to know if we want to surprise him at his own home. What kind of food should we get? And what should we do about presents? There has to be presents! Okay James, I'll call you back later."

He didn't give his friend time to answer before he had hung up. His fingers were already dialing Jack's number before he could pause to answer any of his own rambling questions.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Jack!" Tom greeted enthusiastically. "How do you feel about hosting a holiday party for Alex?"

"Um," Jack didn't sound nearly as enthused as Tom had expected her to be. "I don't know if Alex would like that. He just got out of the hospital..."

"Which is exactly why we should hold a celebration!" Tom latched onto the subject eagerly. "James and I think that we should do something special for Alex, to let him know that he still has friends that care for him."

Jack was extremely lucky that they weren't talking face to face. This was the point in the conversation when Tom would have brought out his puppy-eyed, pleading look. No one could resist the infamous Tom-Harris-look.

"Well," Tom could nearly taste the indecision in Jack's voice. _Wait,_ no—that was merely her heavy American accent. "I guess it would be all right as long as you have a plan."

"Yes!" Tom grinned. "Okay, so I'm going to invite all of Alex's friends. He does have friends besides James and me, right? Well, no matter, I'll have to do a bit of lurking—"

"Tom—!" Jack interrupted, sounding amused. "I don't care who you invite. Just take care of the food. You know I can't cook."

Tom wrinkled his nose. It was an understatement. Jack most definitely could not cook. He could remember twelve separate incidents in the past two years alone that left an acrid stench lingering in the depths of his memory. He shuddered, "I'll be sure to tell everyone to bring a dish."

"Good idea," Jack sounded relieved as she hung up.

And now Tom was stuck. He frowned, tossing his phone to one side of his bed. He prided himself on being one of Alex's closest friends, but if Tom was being completely honest with himself, he didn't know Alex as well as he used to. That much was evident as he pondered over who to invite. Alex used to be close with the football team, but that had all changed last year, when his uncle died. He had not been, by any means, antisocial. If anything, Alex had been popular and well-liked. It should have been easy to figure out who to invite and who not to invite.

Tom sighed, falling onto his bed, back first. A holiday party with only Alex, James, Jack, and Tom would be a sad party indeed. He couldn't allow that! The whole point of the mission was to bring joy and cheer into his lonesome mate's heart.

"Sabina!" Tom sat up straight at the revelation. He raced for a pen and paper, scrawling her name down on the first line. He waited, pen poised, for another realization to hit him. Waited. And waited.

None came to him.

Tom sighed, dropping his pen down onto his desk and returning to his former position on his bed. It was an impossible task. Perhaps he could simply call Alex and ask—covertly, of course—about his friends. Yes! Tom could pull that off. He was the master of secret operations. Simply the best at fishing for information in an unsuspecting victim. He was perfect for the job—!

Tom reached for his phone, unlocking the screen and ready to pluck the knowledge right from Alex's brain.

He paused, finger hovering over the call button. The unfortunate thing about knowing someone well was that that someone also knew _Tom_ extremely well. He would never be able to make it through a whole conversation without at least raising some suspicion about what he was doing. Paranoia and espionage? Tom didn't have to be well-versed in the inner workings of a spy's mind to know those two things didn't go well together.

Annoyed, Tom pressed the home button on his phone, bringing him to his home screen. Little icons greeted him with red bubbles. Notifications that he had neglected to acknowledge. Most of them came from social media accounts that he didn't care much for.

The lightbulb in Tom's head flickered on and stayed on. Social media. The way the world stayed connected. Tom was certain he could find Alex's other friends on there!

Ignoring the little "9" in the corner of the blue app, Tom tapped the icon several times, impatiently gnawing at the insides of his cheeks. The whole two seconds seemed longer than an eternity, and as soon as the page fully loaded, Tom made his way, tapping and giggling at his own genius, to Alex's profile, where— _success!_ —his friends were located.

Alex only had a few friends on Facebook, and only two of them were from Brookland Comprehensive. Tom had been there when the fair-haired boy purged his account, muttering something about receiving less than friendly messages. The thought made Tom frown. He couldn't understand how easy it was for his peers to turn on someone they used to adore. He shook his head to himself. Whatever the case was, Tom's work had been cut out for him. This page contained only his closest friends. He was sure!

Tom tapped on the first profile to show up. The boy in the photo looked like he was the same age as he was, complete with the lanky teenager look of a boy who hadn't quite grown into his limbs yet. He stood awkwardly in the picture, lowering his hand in an aborted thumbs-up position, Big Ben in the shot behind him.

James Sprintz. Tom stared down at the name, wondering if he had heard it before. No, he was fairly certain he hadn't, and as he scrolled down to the 'about' section, he realized why. The kid lived in Germany. Tom didn't even know that Alex had been to Germany. It would have come up in conversation, he thought mournfully.

Tom swiped back to the previous page and selected the next profile. The profile picture didn't do the man any favors considering his face was barely visible. Only his bushy black eyebrows and brown eyes were visible in the picture, and along that vein, were uncomfortably close to Tom. Even if it was just a picture, Tom leaned backwards, wary. This "Wolf" character hadn't even bothered to put his real name. Besides his relationship status (set at a heartbreaking 'single'), Wolf didn't have any information in the about section of use to Tom. He did, however, have many public photos of guns. Maybe this Wolf was American.

Uncertain, Tom swiped back to the friends page and clicked on the next profile. This one was of a woman sitting sternly in a rocking chair. Well, as sternly as one could with a kitten, dressed as a peppermint, nestled in her slightly wild hair. Yes, Tom determined. Very promising.

Without hesitation, he tapped on the 'chat' option.

 _'Hello, Ms. Jones.'_

Tom stared down at the words. Was that too formal? If this woman was Alex's friend, shouldn't he address her causally? But, the woman in the picture looked older. Tom frowned and erased the words, starting anew.

 _'Hello, Tulip!'_

There, that was much better. Tom felt an easy smile slide onto his face.

 _'Hello, Tulip! I'm arranging a surprise party for...'_


	2. Mrs Jones

2\. MRS JONES

AUTHOR: Zyzyax

* * *

Mrs. Jones was quite surprised to be messaged by one of Alex's friends on Facebook. Alex had invited her and she had accepted, despite the risks. It really was an open secret that he worked for them at this point. The party had barely started when she arrived and Alex's friend bounced over. "Where is everybody else?"

Tom Harris grinned like a Cheshire cat. Mrs. Jones was starting to wonder what on Earth was going on behind the scenes. "You're on time, Mrs. Jones. Don't you know? You're supposed to be fashionably late."

It had been nearly thirty years since anybody had accused her of being fashionable. Mrs. Jones decided to visit Alex. When he immediately stiffened she moved to reassure him. "Oh, no. I'm actually just here for the party, Alex."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Well, Tom made the food. You may want to have one of your goons check it before you take a bite."

Harris squawked at the apparent impingement of his culinary honor. "I assure you my cooking is perfectly fine."

Mrs. Jones stifled a snort. Those two couldn't have possibly known that John and Ian had once had a similar argument in the MI6 Christmas Party of 1984. That had been the last MI6 Christmas Party, ever. Mrs. Jones wandered away as the two began yet another bickering match. She had listened to hundreds of hours of surveillance on those two and knew that Alex would simply cave eventually. She decided she was going to let someone else risk it and headed straight for the crisps. It had been a while since she had personally eaten any. Just this once couldn't hurt, she supposed. Smithers was also coming and Joe Byrne had actually asked before attending, which was surprisingly considerate of the man. Then again, Alan was known to be quite territorial when it came to other intelligence agency heads, his agents, and Britain. Tulip hadn't seen any harm in him attending with a few others. Apparently, only agency deputy heads and soldiers were on time to parties. Tulip wondered if she should wander over and talk to him. She decided she was going to enjoy the peace, quiet, and crisps for a bit before she did anything that resembled networking. At least at this party, there were a few more interesting people. Mrs. Jones decided to find a corner of the living room before the place filled up too much. The soldiers had already saluted her as she walked in and made a beeline for the food. Tulip figured it was fine since they seemed to be scarfing it down at a fairly normal rate. Then again, they were SAS.

Tulip waited until she was sure they didn't have food poisoning before approaching the table. Byrne seemed to have the same idea. He walked right over to her. "Using the soldiers as food guinea pigs, Tulip? For shame."

Tulip rolled her eyes. Joe Byrne did have a certain charm to him when he wanted to. "You act like you weren't copying my strategy like your device department copied our pens in the Cold War."

Byrne snorted. "Yeah, Tulip, sure, you don't borrow our spy satellite designs at all."

Tulip felt her lips twitch. She was not losing this conversation to Joe Byrne. "It's good to see you, too, Joe."

Byrne grinned. "You don't even deny it."

Tulip raised an eyebrow. "I try not to insult your intelligence."

Joe grinned. "Well, if I wasn't married with grandkids, I would-"

Jones glared at him halfheartedly. "Don't go there, Joe."

Joe gave her an innocent look that might have fooled her at the start of the Cold War. They had all worked together from the very beginning. Back when SCORPIA had never existed and the world's top agents were still working for the intelligence agencies. She remembered those Christmas parties, too. The sparkling champagne. The shameless flirting. The fact that they were all united against the Russians and everything had been black and white. Tulip cut off her nostalgia. "Sorry, Tulip."

She had missed him, sometimes. "You know, the wife got her divorce this year."

Tulip shrugged. From what she heard, it had been a long time coming. The woman never should have married someone who had long hours to work if she wanted to be a jealous shrew. "Sorry, Joe. I know you tried to make it work."

Joe looked at her. "I'm not, Tulip."

Tulip resisted the urge to let her mouth drop open. Did Joe really still like her? After all these years and both marriages? What was she supposed to say to that? "I'm not sure how to respond to that Joe."

Joe grinned. "Let me take you out to dinner, Tulip. It'll be just like the old days."

Tulip mentally blanked and found herself saying. "Alright then, Joe."

Alan was going to kill her. She figured one date wasn't going to hurt. It wasn't like she agreed to marry him or anything. Joe walked away. Tulip wondered why she still got the floaty feeling.

Tamara walked up to her. Jones made sure there was no idiotic lovesick grin on her face. She was a professional woman. "So, you and Joe?"

Tulip laughed. In the back of her mind was the toast that they had at the end of the Cold War. Joe had come to her wedding. She had gone to his. "Oh, Agent Knight, we're old news."

Tamara arched a brow. "Really? Doesn't seem like it to me."

Tulip shrugged. Knight could think what she wanted. Joe Byrne and Tulip Jones were never going to be a strong, steady relationship. This wasn't the Cold War. They were rivals at best now. "You can think what you want, Agent Knight. This discussion is over."

They could keep it a secret. Jones figured Byrne had similar opinions on Alex, which would have been a huge issue. Tamara wandered off, sensing the twin threat and order. Tulip allowed herself to wistfully imagine what could be, if they both didn't have their jobs, before brutally stomping it down into the back of her mind. Alex had sauntered over. "Sooo. You and Joe."

Jones could suddenly feel an oncoming headache. She was really reconsidering the risk classification of migraine medication. "Who told you that?"

Alex gave her what she supposed was a mix between a grin and a smirk. "Nobody. I suspected, but you just confirmed it."

Tulip glared balefully at him. She really hated being outmaneuvered. "Don't worry, Cu-er, Blunt, doesn't have to know."

Mrs. Jones gathered herself up. "Mr. Rider, watch that language."

Alex gave her a sort of smirk. "Sorry, Mrs. Jones, these pain meds, well, you know."

Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes. Boys. They never did change. She figured she was just going to let that one go. "It better be a nice dinner he takes you to."

Mrs. Jones arched her brow. "I would assure you, Alex, if it was any of your business, that Joe has impeccable taste, especially for an American."

Alex arched a brow at her. "Defending your man alread-"

Mrs. Jones cut him off. "Besides you are hardly in any shape to be giving Joe the shovel talk."

Alex muttered under his breath. "And Blunt would be so much better at it than I would."

Tulip decided it was a lost cause and walked off. Surely there was some sort of beverages to be found, preferably of the alcoholic variety.


	3. James Sprintz

3\. JAMES SPRINTZ

AUTHOR: wolfern

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As he speed-stripped in an unlit alley, trying not to touch his bare feet to the unknown substances obscuring the ground, James Sprintz thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't a girl. Though it was another matter entirely whether that would make a difference to any police who might come upon him. Unfortunate phrasing. But that was how he liked it.

He released the bowtie with a practised flourish.

The next problem was where to put his clothes. Ideally, he'd abandon them for others less fortunate, but he still had to wear them when he returned, and ideally he wouldn't have worn them in the first place and then he wouldn't have had to do this and… Anyway.

Being of a practical mind, he put the tuxedo and leather dress shoes in his bag and changed into a Masayuki t-shirt and jeans. Finally, running a hand through his gelled hair, he followed his phone map to the address.

No-one greeted James at the door, a fact which assured him that he'd made the right choice in switching clothes. No doorman, no tux. It was a solid rule. He really hadn't been quite sure what to expect when he'd been informed it was going to be 'funcy'. His father had said over-dressing was merely a sign of superiority, but although they'd recently started to repair their relationship, James still trusted his own judgement more. _He_ hadn't chosen to send himself to Point Blanc…

His bag – along with his clothes – held, for emergency events where gifts were required, an Ibérico jamon and pewter slicing knife both donated by his father. He selected another of the gifts that he'd picked out before dropping the bag in a surreptitious corner.

Well.

Whatever he'd expected from 'funcy', this hadn't been it. It was one of the more eclectic bunches of people he'd come across in a gathering, but somehow there seemed to be an underlying cohesion amongst the attendees. They all, of course, held a subconscious deference towards the reason he'd come: Alex Rider.

James quelled his discomfort at reuniting with someone after a single meeting, months ago, in less-than-ideal circumstances, and sauntered over with a practised air. He was accosted by a soldier on the way, but that didn't stop him from reaching his once-classmate.

"Congratulations!" he said to Alex, checking out the boy beside him, who could only have been Tom, the mystery person who'd invited James in the first place. James admired his jet black hair – he'd once gone through a phase where he'd dyed his hair black, to match his soul and nail polish, but the results hadn't been nearly so satisfying – and gave a wide grin to the both of them.

"Uh, congratulations for what?"

"For being alive, of course!" he very carefully kept cheer in his mien. "Surely such a thing is to be celebrated?"

"…Of course," said the boy who had rescued him from that hellish school.

"Don't look so stern, Alex," said Tom. "James has come all the way from…"

"From Switzerland," James provided, nodding at Tom and his delicious hair.

"Switzerland," Tom repeated. He paused. "I thought you were German?"

James hoped his hours opposite the mirror had not been for naught as he tried to smize without squinting. "My father has taken me on a break. And how have you been since last we said goodbye?"

Alex shrugged. "You know, normal."

James looked to Tom, confirming his suspicion that Alex's definition of 'normal' had different parameters to most others. Then again, in one of his own phases, he'd enjoyed all sorts of extra-curriculars with his friends in Berlin. Perhaps this was much the same, albeit through forced exploitation rather than by choice.

"I asked about you when the soldiers came," James said, "but they didn't tell me _anything_. Well, they said you escaped by skiing like I planned, but you used an ironing board. Can't trust anything those chaps say, eh?"

Tom choked. Concerned, James patted him on the back, taking the opportunity to admire his hair up close. His eyes were a rather pleasing blue, too.

Meanwhile, Alex was mumbling, "Well, actually…"

Under James' ministrations, Tom recovered to say, "Knowing Alex, it's probably the truth."

One quick glance at Alex's face confirmed it.

"Well!" said James, and he finally remembered the box he still held. "Here. For your hospitality."

The teen spy took the box and eyed it dubiously. James tried to look earnest. That expression probably needed more time in front of the mirror, he decided. "I chose it especially."

"…Thank you?"

Tom leaned over and read the title, grin growing wider as he did so. "A grow-your-own-girlfriend kit?"

James beamed. "After the untimely removal of Miss Stomach-bag, I thought you would appreciate a replacement."

With James' nickname for Mrs Stellenbosch, Alex finally seemed to smile genuinely. "Thank you, James."

"You are most welcome, _mein Freund_!" James looked around the room again. "Unless one of the girls here is yours already?"

For a spy, it was amazing how shifty Alex became.

"Ah! I am correct! I assume it is one of the two girls here, not the woman? Or maybe you prefer the men..? They _are_ quite well-muscled, if that is your type." Maybe he was overdoing it. He always was a nervous talker. Before he could really stop to think about it, he very deliberately looked Tom up and down and blurted, "Myself, I prefer someone who doesn't have trouble fitting into skinny jeans…" After all, he'd heard these Englishmen were a lot more reserved and understated, but if he didn't try, he wouldn't get, and no-one had ever accused James Sprintz of being too subtle.

He was gratified by a small smile in return, but maybe that was just out of politeness. To stop himself breaking out into another wide anxious grin – or, worse, more risqué comments – he looked back at the two conversing girls.

As if summoned by his gaze, one of the girls looked over. She was vaguely familiar, like he'd seen her at one of the networking parties his father had dragged him to.

Now, James considered himself quite objective when it came to girls, having the distinct advantage of not really caring for them. His objective view of this girl was: in her slinky velvet dress she was rather pretty, but the stare she gave the three of them reminded him of a cat that had once lived in the neighbourhood of James' mother. It would go around from house to house, taking whatever it was fed, but somehow still managing to appear as if it were doing _everyone else_ a favour.

And just like how he'd always enjoyed feeding the cat and trying to pet it, despite being quite aware of its disinterest, James found himself repeating how great it was to catch up with Alex again, and emphasising to Tom that they really should hang out sometime, and walking over to the two girls.

"Hello, ladies," he said, giving his most elaborate bow. This one had needed several years of practice with the full body wall mirror his father had gifted him one year.

The one with brown hair giggled while the cat just stared, unblinking. Some people just couldn't see a masterpiece for what it was.

He cleared his throat. "My name is James, damsel-in-distress rescued by our mutual friend. And may I have the pleasure of your names?"

The brown-haired girl curtsied. "Sabina. Fellow damsel-in-distress."

James and Sabina turned to the third girl. "Fiona. I'm not a damsel-in-distress, and he isn't my friend, and –"

"Friend!" James snapped his fingers in recognition. "We met in Paris…"

Fiona couldn't fold her ears back in consternation like the cat, but her pursed lips had much the same effect. "I don't think we would have…"

James rolled his eyes. "Sprintz."

Finally, her eyes brightened, and she smiled as she began to twirl her hair. "Is that a Miyazaki shirt? I thought it looked familiar…"

Sabina snorted. "Miyazaki is the animator. This is Masayuki."

"Yes, well –"

"You know Masayuki!" James was delighted. "Sabina, we really _must_ discuss this more… Fiona, it was nice to see you again. Give my regards to your parents."

As the night wore on – although, 'wore' was entirely the incorrect term, especially with the punctuation of a glitter bomb in the vicinity of the cat – James decided he'd made the right choice in coming, if only to meet someone else interested in the same sorts of things as him, without the bad influences that had gotten him sent to Point Blanc in the first place. And when James left the party after talking to James-Number-Two, and found an alleyway to change back into the tuxedo to go back home, he decided to buy something nice by Masayuki for Sabina. As it turned out, she knew Alex on a more personal level than just damsel-in-distress. Maybe the next time she visited, she could persuade him to bring Tom, and invite James… Well, no-one had ever accused James Sprintz of being too subtle.


	4. Smithers

4\. SMITHERS

Author: Zyzyax

* * *

Smithers hadn't really been invited to many parties in his life. For some reason, people didn't like fun exploding party favors, especially when they singed the hideous floral upholstery. Oh, well, more for him. Though, he figured that this crowd might be more receptive to explosive party favors than most. Let's see: spies, a juvenile rich delinquent, and soldiers. Smithers had just the thing. Tom Harris really shouldn't have invited him. Smithers had been excited. He'd made a personalized gift for all of them. Okay, maybe it was overdoing it a little, but still, he'd had a lot of fun in his labs. Hehe. Well, maybe glitter-bombing Fiona Friend wasn't a great idea, but Alex had to use his one defensive weapon on her. Besides, she was an overall pain-in-the-ass if reports were to be believed. Smither carefully made his way around the party handing out his, uh, unique party favors. Hey, nobody could accuse him of being a boring little sourpuss like Blunt at least. He'd bet the man would have brought breath mints or something. Who the hell gave out breath mints at a party? Alan Blunt apparently. Anyhow, there was his first recipient. "Merry Christmas, Alex."

The child gave him a tired smile. "Thank you, Smithers."

Smithers handed him a small figurine. "You're welcome, Alex."

Alex gave him a suspicious look. Smithers honesty didn't blame the child. "What does it do?"

Smithers pretended to sputter indignantly. He was pretty sure Alex was getting the message. "Nothing I assure you. I just heard that a white knight figurine was the way to go to make your evening go out with a bang."

Alex snorted. Oh, yes, he got the message. Alex had always been amused by his little jokes. "Sure, Smithers. How've you been?"

Smithers walked in the direction of the food table. "Pretty good, Busy as always. You know how the office is. Always buzzing."

Alex gave him a wry sort of grin. "Oh, yes, plenty of bugs, too. If one judges by the amount of mosquito lotion used."

Smithers chuckled. Alex was quite sharp when he wanted to be. Smithers was well aware of the bugs around the office. It was one of the reasons he had demanded the fat suit. "I personally prefer the electric shock of a few buzzers, myself. Have you seen the ones that look like tennis racquets? I thought you might like one, but knowing you it would end up in the torso of some poor unfortunate soul."

Alex grinned. "Aw, Smithers, you know I'm not that bad. Besides, Karma."

Smithers snorted. Karma indeed. "Well, I had best make the rounds."

A bit like a mischievous Santa Claus. Alex's eyes danced. "Don't have too much fun."

He darted off before Smithers could retort. Pssh. Not everything blew up around him. Tsk.

"So, how's she been?"

It was Joe Byrne. Smithers looked at him. Oh, he meant Tulip. "Pretty well. I'm sure you know how difficult being Deputy Director is."

Byrne fidgeted. It was unusual. The man had a reputation for being passionate, but confident in his decisions. "Yeah, but, I mean, since her family and all…"

Smithers arched a brow. By the time he'd joined MI6. The rumors left over from the Cold War had turned almost into mere legend. Perhaps there was a grain of truth to them after all. Or perhaps they were just good friends. Tulip Jones and Joe Byrne, huh? It brought a whole new meaning to the word power couple. Smithers sighed. "They say you went to the funeral."

Joe gave him a look. It clearly told him he was treading on thin ice. "Well, we worked together for almost ten years."

Smithers shrugged. "You'd have better luck asking Mr. Blunt. They usually have lunch together."

Joe sighed. "Okay, is Alex alright?"

Smithers gave him a look. Joe really shouldn't go poking into Blunt's arena, but the man knew that already. "We wouldn't let him out of the hospital if he wasn't."

Joe rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Smithers sighed. Alex was Alex. Tulip was Tulip. In a way, they were both similar about dealing with their problems. Those two were also very private people. "As well as can be expected. Perhaps you should go talk to people."

Joe, unlike Alan Blunt, could take a hint. His eyes danced. "And perhaps I shall."

Joe wandered off. Smithers hoped the man didn't pull anything stupid. Incurring the wrath of Alan Blunt tended to shorten one's lifespan. Mrs. Jones was no slouch either.

Smithers decided it was time to plant the seeds for his prank. "Ms. Friend, have a Merry Christmas."

The girl took the envelope and thanked him automatically. Smithers chuckled inwardly. Payback time. Nobody had ever accused him of being overly mature about these sorts of things, he supposed. He had decided on a plain old prank grenade for Harris who looked absolutely shocked to be handed such a thing by a 'responsible adult'. They weren't used for agency devices due to the TSA's confiscation of even fake grenades. Plus, 'bankers' weren't supposed to carry prank grenades. Psssh. They were no fun to design for. At any rate, Tulip got some tracker gum, in case she was kidnapped. The CIA agents got a set of pens from him as an ironic gift. Everybody knew the Americans stole those designs from MI6. Really, he was just expediting the process a little. The SAS soldiers also got glitter bombs. Hey, he was getting Alex's payback for him. Besides, bedazzled SAS soldiers were hilarious on principle. Smithers wondered how much he would have gotten beat up if he had ever gone to the camp. Probably a lot, but the pranks would have been so worth it. James Sprintz and Sabina had been a little harder. He'd settled on some figurines that would passively scan their nearby environment and let Smithers know if they were in toxins or explosives trouble. He'd even gotten the right show if their identical smiles were any kind of indication. Smithers decided to sit back and enjoy watching people mill about at the party. To his surprise, the cooked food wasn't actually terrible, especially considering that a teenager made it. Tom had been surprisingly tasteful in picking his dishes. Pizza, sadly, gave him acid reflux. It was a pity because he actually liked it. Oh, well. It would have probably brought up bad memories for Alex anyway, due to the whole Mrs. Jones incident that he'd analyzed the bullet trajectory for. Smithers sat down to watch James Sprintz, of all people, bound in and practically Tiger bounce all over the room. The boy Alex had rescued from Point Blank. Smithers decided to go off in search of drinks. He sincerely hoped there was no booze. The last thing Alex needed was an alcohol problem or a friend with one. Ed Shulsky was sulking in the other corner. Did the man never get out? Smithers shrugged. Some people simply weren't extroverts.


	5. Fiona Friend

5\. FIONA FRIEND

AUTHOR: Zyzyax

* * *

Fiona Friend wasn't quite sure why she had accepted the invitation to this party of plebeians. There wasn't even proper champagne. Well, she knew exactly why. Alex Rider. He had turned her down. It was unbelievable. Personally, she actually liked him well enough after he saved her. He compared her to a horse! A horse! She was bloody attractive and sought after by a lot of young, rich men of high social standing. At any rate, she had gone, despite her better judgment. Perhaps she could at least break up the current relationship as revenge. Sabina Pleasure actually looked like her. Except Fiona considered herself more attractive and more stylish. She was wearing a nice, velvet dress that showed off her curves. That should be enough to attract a boy about her age. Hmmm. Had she chosen the right perfume? Gucci was popular, wasn't it? Was it too common? Then, she had been approached by what she thought was just a layabout commoner. Talking with Sabina had been surprisingly above the level of paint drying. It was not like they were friends or anything, but Fiona thought she was decent, for the daughter of a reporter, anyhow. Fiona remembered the conversation after.

"Hello, ladies," a boy in jeans said, giving a cheesy, elaborate bow. Sabina giggled like an idiot. Fiona's opinion of her had immediately taken a dive. She had made sure to stare disapprovingly at the boy. The boy cleared his throat. "My name is James, damsel-in-distress rescued by our mutual friend. And may I have the pleasure of your names?"

Sabinal had curtsied. Fiona had rolled her eyes inwardly. Honestly. "Sabina. Fellow damsel-in-distress."

The boy and Sabina turned to her. She had attempted to speak for herself. She would have been able to rescue herself perfectly well. For God's sake. "Fiona. I'm not a damsel-in-distress, and he isn't my friend, and –"

She had been interrupted. "Friend!"

The boy had snapped his fingers in recognition. "We met in Paris…"

She had pursed her lips. Her social circle, especially in Paris, did not include jean-clad layabouts. "I don't think we would have…"

The boy had rolled his eyes. "Sprintz."

Well, surprise. He was an actual person. Sprintz was a fine family and he would be a decent catch. She had made sure to turn on the charm. "Is that a Miyazaki shirt? I thought it looked familiar…"

The girl, Sabina, had snorted. "Miyazaki is the animator. This is Masayuki."

Well, she was versed in British styles. Not cheesy, too-casual wear. "Yes, well –"

The Sprintz boy had interrupted. "You know Masayuki!"

Apparently, he had been delighted. "Sabina, we really must discuss this more… Fiona, it was nice to see you again. Give my regards to your parents."

Well, it would only be polite. It was disappointing he was more interested in the plebeian than her, but there was no accounting for taste, she supposed.

Fiona returned to the present. The party wasn't really that bad, but she was used to larger ones with more people her age to snub. There were the distinctly odd adults. Actual, real-life soldiers that weren't behind a wall of security people at a charity function. She had decided not to approach them. An odd fat man who had brought gifts for everyone. Interesting. She wondered what was in the envelope, but opening it in front of him would be rude. It was probably a boring card. Fiona wandered with the adults for a bit, but they seemed either hopelessly dull or vaguely antisocial. The Americans were just odd. She heard the old one asked the grey lady on a date. They would make the perfect couple, Fiona decided. The old cat lady and the old divorcee. It wasn't as though either of them could do better. You had to be rich to attract people at that age. Fiona wouldn't say so aloud, but you know. There was probably a reason their partners had left them. Then again, everybody knew British ladies were better than American ladies. At least the old American man had some taste. The other older woman was an American. She was wearing tennis shoes at a party. And trousers. Dear God, the classless heathens. At least they liked staying on their own 'superior' continent. Don't even get her started on Australians. She had to do exercises to keep herself from frowning. Wrinkle lines, you know. She needed to stay pretty as long as possible. Australians just raised her blood pressure and these ones were just infuriatingly nice and well-meaning. One was wearing sandals and shorts. Shorts. In the winter and in public. She knew people did it, but certainly not in her social circles. Shorts were reserved for hunting or close friends and family. The man, she'd forgotten his name, had offered her a dance. He actually hadn't been bad at it. It was just strange to dance with a man in shorts who cheerfully chirped at her in a thick Aussie accent. At her, because he just kept on talking despite her lack of response. But, to his credit he let her go after two. Fiona didn't think it would cause a scandal here, but best to be careful.

Fiona sipped at her juice. Well, calling it juice was generous, but it tasted sweet. Plus, she was thirsty. Harris had done a decent job on the food. Fiona would be the first to admit that she couldn't cook. It was more of a thing she had put off until later or a thing for servants, you know. Her mother only had to cook occasionally. Fiona was glad she had never been drafted into that. Especially after the hunts. She was perfectly okay with shooting animals, but cleaning them left her a bit on the squeamish end of things. Fiona had decided to sit on the surprisingly tasteful furniture. Alex's house was pretty nice, now that she thought about it. He was definitely not poor and where on Earth was his family? Then again, she couldn't really talk. Her father and mother were both busy this time of the year. The furniture was actual hardwood. She traced the dark, attractive grain of the edge of the table. It was nice. Subtle, too. Fiona wondered what other surprises she might find if she poked about a bit. Whoosh. Pop. Suddenly her vision was filled with puke-green glitter. She couldn't help the ungodly shriek that left her mouth as she jumped and doused herself with bright red liquid on top of puke-green glitter. Oh, god. Her dress was ruined. "BLEEDIN' FUCK, SMITHERS, I'M GOING TO WRING YOUR BLOODY NECK."

It was shouted by one of the British soldiers. Apparently, the four of them had a similar wardrobe malfunction with pink glitter. It looked quite terrible with army fatigues. Fiona let her voice rise. "This is an absolute outrage."

The grey lady seemed to slip out to the front from nowhere. "You will most assuredly not be laying a finger on Mr. Smithers."

The men actually back down. It was funny. Maybe she was their boss? But they were soldiers. It didn't make sense. Sprintz was at least trying to contain his laughter. The rest, not so much. At least she wasn't the only one. Ugh, this was horrid. Fiona huffed. "Well, I'll be needing the washroom and then I'm headed out."

At least there were no society members to witness this. She would be laughing stock otherwise. Fiona walked over to Alex. "Merry Christmas, Alex."

Then, she walked out. Well, at least she had her dignity.


	6. Sabina Pleasure

6\. SABINA PLEASURE

AUTHOR: wolfern

* * *

Sabina had decided that Fiona Friend didn't live up to her name. She'd spotted the slender girl right away, tinkling with silver jewellery that punctuated a velvet Temperley dress. Seeing Fiona was the only other girl their age at the party, Sabina thought she'd better talk to her first.

Now _that_ was a mistake.

Fiona was the kind of girl you could only speak for about five minutes with before you started wondering if there were other things in the world beyond shooting weekends and other people's inferiority. Sabina looked wistfully towards the extremely fit guys standing as a tight unit at the back of the room, deterring any company. They were only five years older than her – seven at most; hadn't Harry Potter complained it was the _girls_ who travelled in packs?

Thankfully, a boy called James came along and without her asking, whisked her away from Fiona's horrid presence to discuss, of all things, the state of fashion these days.

Of course, they eventually found themselves discussing their respective rescues at Alex's hands. Every time she said goodbye to Alex, it was after something horrific had happened, she told James. They shared some silence. She hadn't spoken to anyone about her dreams of her father dying in an explosion, of not knowing if she would be killed by Damian Cray's inscrutable Russian assassin, of the freezing black water at Christmas, where she woke, gasping, choking on nothing.

Watching Alex perform CPR on her father had been… terrifying. Since then, she'd found herself snapping at her parents and itching to move out, as if she needed to become independent from them in case they died suddenly. Only two more years until college, she kept thinking.

They were adding each other's phone numbers when an almost comically large man appeared before them, presenting them each with a small, wrapped object. "For your safety," he proclaimed. They both stretched out their hands to take the gifts automatically. He gave them a smile, a nod, and a strange sense that they'd been somehow pranked as he wobbled away.

"That was odd," James remarked, eyeballing the package.

She had to agree. She'd always been warned not to take things from strange men, but somehow she thought her parents hadn't been thinking of a situation like this when giving her that lesson. It couldn't be dangerous, could it? He'd been invited to Alex's party and there were lots of Intelligence officers around – she assumed that's what they were. Then again, Fiona Friend had also been invited, although the danger _she_ posed was perhaps more of the nosy kind

Sabina blushed at her uncharitable thought, and she looked at James to make sure she hadn't spoken aloud. It was a little silly to imagine anyone was reading her thoughts, but she couldn't help but start and stare around the room for the portly gentleman when she and James unwrapped their party favours. Staring innocently up at them were the unmistakeable figurines of No-Face and Totoro. Miyazaki. Her spine prickled to think he – whoever _he_ was – had listened to them to know they'd mentioned such a trivial thing, so briefly, and so recently. And then the audacity to say it was for their safety?

Sabina looked at James, who was frowning thoughtfully. "He's probably part of MI6, isn't he..?" she floundered. "He must be."

"Exactly." James looked at her levelly. "Do you trust him?"

Finally, it clicked into place. "I think Alex once mentioned a Quartermaster," she started. "Of everything at MI6, Alex said he could always rely on the gadgets. The Quartermaster – I think his name was Smith, or something – gave him gadgets when he went after Damian Cray." She hesitated as James nodded his agreement. "No-one at MI6 believed him then. _I_ didn't believe him when he told me about MI6."

James put his hand on her shoulder. "I did not believe Alex myself, but he came to rescue us, and that was all that mattered. It was only after, when the spies made us sign all the forms…"

They shared a smile.

"I sometimes feel like I have to make up for not believing him, and then for getting myself kidnapped –"

"I sometimes blame my father for sending me to Point Blanc," said James. He shrugged. "Of course, it's Grief's fault for being crazy. Or maybe the fault of whoever made him crazy. Who can tell?" He rotated his figurine from the gadgetmaster in his fingers. "I think I will keep this. Maybe it _will_ keep me safe."

She clutched Totoro in her fist. It was small enough to fit inside a coin purse, or attach to her phone. Maybe that was the point of it. Even if she was left entirely on her own, it reassured her to know that maybe someone could be there to help.

They moved onto the topic of Alex's friends, who seemed to be few in number, and Sabina noticed James' attention on Tom, so of course they discussed that – James offered to sponsor her so they could visit their respective crushes together without anyone feeling like a third-wheel. It was more than she could have asked for – the opportunity to see Alex more often as though she didn't now live on an entirely different continent, and a new friend to whom she could confide.

Tom joined them for some time, until Sabina couldn't stand the tension between the two and shooed James away.

Eventually, though, Sabina decided she had to go to Alex. She hadn't yet spoken to him – and she really did have to; she'd just seen _Fiona_ speaking to him–

As Sabina moved towards Alex, he was corralled yet again, and then someone was standing in her path so she had to stop. Automatically, she briefly admired the on-trend pairing of a Hugo Boss suit and tennis shoes, on a woman only about a decade older than herself.

"Hi," said the woman, clearly American, and Sabina wondered whether she'd been rescued by Alex too. She felt a moment of envy that so much of his life was a mystery to her.

"I'm Tamara."

Sabina shook her proffered hand. "Sabina. Nice to meet you. May I ask..?"

"CIA." Tamara looked around as if asking for permission, then she laughed. "I guess pretty much everyone knows what this party's about. And if they don't, they're going to find out, I'm sure!"

Bemused, Sabina echoed her laughter. She found herself trying to dissect Tamara's appearance, but although the agent was not typically a bombshell, she had a kind of effortless coolness that sparkled when she smiled; something that, despite all the money she might throw around, Fiona would never be able to attain. Gloomily, Sabina noted that Tamara was probably the kind of girl that Alex liked.

"Anyway, I assume you're the female friend we've got on our files? Newly resident of the good old US of A?"

"I –"

"Oh, where are my manners – pretend I never said that." Tamara gave a conspiratorial grin, waving her hand around as if erasing the memory. "Hi, I'm Tamara. And you're Sabina. May I ask how you know Alex?"

It was almost impossible to resent her. "I'm friends with him," Sabina said, wondering if she was doing the right thing. "I've recently moved to America." This time when Tamara grinned, Sabina smiled back. "Pardon me for asking, but –"

"Oh, I was definitely rude _first!_ "

Sabina waved her apology off. "But you seem awfully young to be working for the CIA..?"

"You say that, knowing Alex?"

Sabina blushed.

"I was actually recruited when I was nineteen, still in college. Didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, wanted to travel and make a difference in the world, and there you have it. I wasn't meant to go on a mission so soon, but Byrne thought it might help Alex if someone also young worked with him this time."

"This time…"

"The first set resented him and they ended up passing on, pardon the bluntness."

Although Sabina knew Alex's job was dangerous, had experienced it firsthand, the words still sent a shiver down her spine. She wondered how Tamara felt, being so young and having given up the chance of a normal life.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my job. There's nothing more satisfying than knowing that I've stopped so many deaths. But I never forget the danger. Alex is lucky, you know."

Sabina scoffed.

"Not lucky to work for MI6," Tamara frowned, "but lucky to be alive. He almost died, you know. I had to save him from drowning."

 _Ice, unbearable pressure surrounding her, fire in her lungs_. For a moment, Sabina couldn't speak. "I'm glad he has someone in the CIA there for him."

Tamara smiled, kindly. "My job will always come first. If it comes down to it, the lives of my countrymen will always trump his. I like him, and I'll try to help him, but in the end, my boss is my boss and I do what he says."

She paused as if waiting for a response, but what could you say to _that_?

In the end, Tamara patted her on the shoulder and moved away, "I'm glad he has friends like you to take care of him when I can't."

Finally, Sabina approached Alex, smoothing down her hair. "Hey, Alex," she began, and felt a thrill when his attention turned to her and his face broke into a wide smile.


	7. The CIA

7\. THE CIA

AUTHOR: flowersforzoe

* * *

It was love at first sight. The first time Joe Byrne saw Tulip Jones he fell madly in love with her.

And many years and two wives later, he had never been able to fall out.

* * *

Byrne was quick to accept the invitation to Alex's party. He wasn't sure how exactly Tom, the kid's friend, was able to track him down, nor did he care. He could write the trip off as a business expense. Tulip Jones would likely be there, and any excuse to see her was good enough for Byrne.

Ah, Tulip Jones. Her name reminded Byrne of the flower she was. Beautiful. Comforting. Sweet-smelling. The perfect name for the perfect woman. Sure, the name Tulip wasn't exactly pretty, but neither was the world they worked in, so it was all the same to Byrne.

It had taken him forever to get ready for the party. What would Tulip like best? A suit? A button-down? An open-necked polo? The party instructions hadn't been very helpful, what the hell was 'funcy,' anyway? He felt momentarily guilty that he had never cared this much about either of his now ex-wives, but the thought quickly passed and was replaced with a single word: Tulip. Byrne shivered. It would never work out, would it?

Goddamnit, Joe, he thought to himself, You're better than this. Focus, damnit!

But the truth was, Joe wasn't better than this. He'd been in love with Tulip for years now: since the Cold War! But his first wife got in the way, and then Tulip's husband, and then his second wife. Finally, both their spouses were out of the picture. They were both single, which hadn't happened since before they'd met. Joe knew he needed to make a good impression on her tonight, or else he may never get another chance. Buttoning up the second-to-last button on the shirt he'd finally compromised on, he was ready to go.

* * *

Joe had made two other CIA agents, Tamara Knight and Ed Shulsky, travel with him to alleviate suspicions. Besides, they had both met Alex before, so surely they'd get something out of it? That's how Joe rationalized using CIA money to flirt, anyways. He was ready. He had asked Tulip if it would be okay to come, mostly to seem considerate. His real reasoning, though, was to confirm her attendance.

"Okay," he began briefing his agents as they walked up to the doorway of Alex's house, "Act natural. Be social. And if you value your jobs, do not make me look bad in front of Tulip Jones."

* * *

"Act natural. Be social. And if you value your jobs, do not make me look bad in front of Tulip Jones."

They were instructions so simple they almost insulted her intelligence, but Tamara Knight was definitely going to break them all. It's what Alex would have done, anyway.

* * *

Tamara had been surprised when Byrne had told her and Agent Shulsky the location of their next mission. She had been expecting somewhere exotic, not boring, drab London. But when she'd heard why they were going, she was infinitely more intrigued.

They were going to a party. Not just any party, but a party thrown for Alex Rider. Alex Rider. Tamara had missed the little brat. They hadn't spoken since he was blasted into outer space, and she desperately wanted to see him again. It's not every day a CIA agent and a teenaged MI6 agent take turns saving each other's lives before saving Washington D.C. To be fair, that was mostly Alex's doing, but still.

In getting ready, she had wanted to capture the look of the badass spy she was. What's the point of having such a cool job if you can't look the part? She had decided on a sleek Hugo Boss suit that fit her like a glove, and a pair of ever-sensible tennis shoes. You never know when shit will go down and you'll have to make a run for it, especially when Alex Rider is involved.

* * *

It was the first ever assignment that Ed Shulsky had ever said no to. It was a party for Alex Rider, and he had never liked the brat. So young, so full of himself. Alex was all the CIA ever talked about.

Alex was almost comically bad at following orders. He never listened to Shulsky, even when he told Alex to stay on that goddamn boat for his own safety. He just had to play the hero. Kids these days.

Shulsky protested and argued with Byrne for a week, before Byrne finally got pissed and threatened his job: "Agent Shulsky, however you may feel about Alex Rider, going to his party for a couple hours will be a hell of a lot less painful than me sending you to count sheep in Antarctica for the next decade."

"Uh, Mr. Byrne, sir," Shulsky started, annoyed that he had lost the battle, "I don't think there are any sheep in Antarctica."

"Exactly, Agent Shulsky. Now get the hell out of my office."

There would be booze at the party, so that was silver-lining. Though, Ed Shulsky had never been a silver-lining type of guy. He did work for the CIA, after all.

* * *

Joe Byrne was officially bored. Tamara had ditched him for a cute redhead, and Ed had ditched him for a cute beer. He was a little pissed, as they were supposed to be his wingman and wingwoman, (not that he'd actually told them that, though) but his anxiety overtook his anger. He had been standing around awkwardly, trying not to stare at Tulip, and waiting for someone he recognized. It's not like he could just talk to her or anything.

* * *

Tamara Knight and Ed Shulsky had ditched Joe Byrne at the door, both with a separate goal in mind. Tamara, to blatantly break all three of Joe's simple rules, and Ed to talk to as few people as humanly possible.

* * *

Shulsky was incredibly successful in achieving his goal. After ignoring the annoying group of loud soldiers next to the food table, he found a faded chair in the corner of the room farthest from everybody else. Shulsky only left his prized seat to grab more booze. He knew he looked like an antisocial loner or even a snob, but he didn't care, so long as he didn't have to speak with anybody about it. It was going to be a long night.

Tamara, on the other hand, was having a great time. She enjoyed fucking with Byrne almost as much as Alex enjoyed fucking with Blunt and Jones. There was something just so satisfying about annoying some of the world's most powerful people and getting away with it.

* * *

Right upon her arrival, Tamara noticed a girl around Alex's age standing alone and staring at her. "Hi," she said, introducing herself politely, "I'm Tamara." She stuck her hand out, and the dark-haired girl took it.

"Sabina. Nice to meet you. May I ask..?" the girl-who-now-had-a-name began awkwardly.

"CIA," Tamara clarified. Man, did it feel weird to just shout her employer into the void. It was a good weird, though. Laughing, Tamara said "I guess pretty much everyone knows what this party's about. And if they don't, they're going to find out, I'm sure!" Sabina laughed too, but to Tamara, it felt forced. Time to make some conversation. "Anyway," she began, "I assume you're the female friend we've got on our files? Newly resident of the good old US of A?"

"I –" Sabina started uncomfortably.

Goddamnit, Tamara, that was really awkward, she realized, Girl, you do not have enough alcohol in your system to properly socialize. "Oh, where are my manners – pretend I never said that," Tamara laughed lightheartedly, "Hi, I'm Tamara. And you're Sabina. May I ask how you know Alex?"

"I'm friends with him," Sabina explained guardedly, "I've recently moved to America." Tamara smiled to show that she actually cared about what the girl had to say, and when Sabina smiled back, it looked genuine. Basic manipulation, Tamara remembered from her psych training, Pretend you care, and people will spill their guts to you. "Pardon me for asking, but –" Sabina started awkwardly.

"Oh, I was definitely rude first!" Tamara assured her.

"But you seem awfully young to be working for the CIA...?" Ick, personal questions.

"You say that, knowing Alex?" Tamara challenged, dodging the question. Sabina wasn't replying, so Tamara decided to give her some bland information just to keep her talking. This party was boring, and there was no one else to talk to, anyway: "I was actually recruited when I was nineteen, still in college," she explained, "Didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, wanted to travel and make a difference in the world, and there you have it. I wasn't meant to go on a mission so soon, but Byrne thought it might help Alex if someone also young worked with him this time."

"This time…" Sabina wondered quietly.

"The first set resented him and they ended up passing on, pardon the bluntness," Tamara explained, even though legally, Byrne would have kicked her ass for doing so. She immediately realized that that may not have been the best thing to Sabina. Her skin had gone pale, the poor girl. "Don't get me wrong, I love my job," Tamara assured her quickly, trying to bring the color back into her face. "There's nothing more satisfying than knowing that I've stopped so many deaths. But I never forget the danger. Alex is lucky, you know." Sabina scoffed at this. Word choice, Tamara, damnit! "Not lucky to work for MI6," Tamara clarified, "But lucky to be alive. He almost died, you know. I had to save him from drowning."

Sabina stayed quiet for several minutes. Tamara figured she was still trying to piece together the information. "I'm glad he has someone in the CIA there for him," she said finally.

"My job will always come first. If it comes down to it, the lives of my countrymen will always trump his. I like him, and I'll try to help him, but in the end, my boss is my boss and I do what he says," Sabina stayed quiet again. Goddamn, I didn't know how hard it was to interact with non-intelligence people. Trying to save the already dead-awkward conversation, Tamara said: "I'm glad he has friends like you to take care of him when I can't." Sabina nodded and walked away.

That conversation was a disaster, Tamara realized, I need to find some booze to just loosen the hell up. She sauntered over to the drinks table and poured herself a glass of red wine. Standing with her back against the wall, surveying the room, she was plotting how to be just obnoxious enough for Byrne to be noticeably annoyed, but not so obnoxious that he actually reprimanded her, when someone walked up to her.

The mystery person had the most beautiful red hair and the shiniest green eyes.

Hot damn, Tamara thought as she checked her out, her eyes flitting from the mystery woman's red hair to her black wedge heels, Screw messing with Byrne, this party just got a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

Ahh, finally, Byrne thought. Derek Smithers. Byrne had known the gadget master for about seven years now, and they were decently close. For the intelligence world, anyway.

"So, how's she been?" he asked awkwardly, referring to Tulip.

Smithers glanced over at him, suspiciously. "Pretty well. I'm sure you know how difficult being Deputy Director is."

Byrne fidgeted. He was trying hard to hide his discomfort, but it wasn't easy. "Yeah, but, I mean, since her family and all…"

Smithers raised an eyebrow and sighed. "They say you went to the funeral."

Goddamnit, Smithers! Joe thought, Can nobody at MI6 take a hint? Now, how to phrase this without sounding like a hopeless creep in love..."Well, we worked together for almost ten years." Great job, Joe. Way to be subtle, you dumbass. Why can't you just-

"You'd have better luck asking Mr. Blunt. They usually have lunch together," Smithers pointed out, interrupting Joe's internal monologue.

Joe sighed. This was going nowhere. "Okay, is Alex alright?" When in doubt, change the subject. That's what Joe's dad had always taught him.

"We wouldn't let him out of the hospital if he wasn't," Smithers said, sounding guarded. Joe hadn't meant to upset the man.

Joe rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"As well as can be expected. Perhaps you should go talk to people." Smithers clearly wanted this conversation to end, which Joe understood.

"And perhaps I shall." Goddamnit, Joe! You fucked it up again! You have to get your shit together and just talk to her!

And Joe did. He had actually taken Smithers's advice. He looked around for his agents. They were both drinking, the anti-social bastards. Tamara was at the drinks table, and Shulsky was alone on a faded chair with what appeared to be his third beer. Joe sighed. There was nothing left to do, except talk to Tulip.

* * *

"Well hello there," Tamara said to the mystery redhead, her voice smooth and suave, "I'm Tamara."

"Jack Starbright," the woman responded, "How are you?" Tamara was surprised to hear that Jack had an American accent. D.C., most likely. Was Jack CIA? She looked really familiar, but Tamara simply couldn't place where they've met.

"Just perfect," Tamara said coolly, a smile forming on her deep red lips, "So, what's your Alex story? Everyone around here seems to have one."

Jack chuckled. "More like stories. I've been watching him since he was seven, and became his legal guardian last year." Tamara nodded. Guardian, you say? "What about you, Tamara, how do you know Alex?"

"Well, we met while I was working undercover for a man named Nikolai Drevin. Wait. That's where I've seen you before, right? The Waterfront Hotel, remember?" Tamara flashed her best smile at Jack.

"Oh my god, that's right! I'd forgotten all about that," Jack laughed, showing all of her perfect teeth.

"I hadn't realized I was that forgettable," Tamara said slowly, over-enunciating her words. She winked at Jack.

"No, no" Jack exclaimed, "Trust me. You are far from forgettable."

And then they were kissing. When they had finally come up for air, Jack licked her lips and smiled again: "Far from forgettable, indeed."

* * *

Byrne had been watching Tulip for several minutes. Finally, she was alone. She was getting food, and he walked right up to her. "Using the soldiers as food guinea pigs, Tulip? For shame," he said charmingly, a twinkle in his eyes.

"You act like you weren't copying my strategy like your device department copied our pens in the Cold War," she shot back. Damn, Tulip's playing hard-to-get.

Byrne snorted playfully. "Yeah, Tulip, sure, you don't borrow our spy satellite designs at all," he teased. He figured it was best to just continue the light banter for as long as possible.

Tulip tried to hide a smile, but Joe saw right through her. "It's good to see you, too, Joe," she admitted shyly.

"You don't even deny it," Byrne said with a shit-eating grin. This was going better than he'd ever imagined.

Tulip raised an eyebrow at him. "I try not to insult your intelligence."

Byrne grinned. It was now or never... "Well, if I wasn't married with grandkids, I would-"

"Don't go there, Joe," she interrupted him. Her attempts were quite futile, though, as Joe was still as charismatic as ever.

Joe gave her an innocent look that took him back to the Cold War days. He wished that everything now was that simple. Good vs. Evil; East vs. West; Capitalism vs. Communism; Russia vs. America and Europe. Everything was so black and white. Now, on the world stage, everything is just so fucking convoluted, and Byrne never knew exactly where he stood with anyone. "Sorry, Tulip," he sighed, trying to draw her back in, "You know, the wife got her divorce this year." He knew without a doubt that she was aware of that fact, but it definitely didn't hurt to point it out.

"Sorry, Joe," she said, trying to sound regretful, "I know you tried to make it work."

Joe locked eyes with her. "I'm not, Tulip." And he wasn't. His bitch ex-wife had been cheating for years, and he wasn't sorry to see her ago at all.

"I'm not sure how to respond to that Joe," she said uneasily.

Joe grinned. He had finally broken Tulip. "Let me take you out to dinner, Tulip," he proposed, "It'll be just like the old days."

"Alright then, Joe."

* * *

When she and Jack finally pulled apart, they noticed Alex staring at them, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Oh shit," Jack laughed, breaking away from Tamara's gaze and looking over at her shocked ward.

"Don't worry about it, Jack," Tamara soothed, "He'll be fine. He's Alex, after all."

Jack smiled and regained eye contact with Tamara, "Indeed he is. Can I see you again?"

"Of course you can, just call me," Tamara flicked up her eyebrows and sauntered away.

* * *

Shulsky was onto his fifth beer by the time his boss approached him, grinning like a madman.

"Agent Shulsky," Byrne announced, "We have reason to celebrate. Come on, let's do shots,"

"Why are we celebrating?" Shulsky questioned suspiciously. Unlike Tamara, he hadn't been listening to Joe and Tulip's conversation, so he had no idea why his boss was so happy.

"Like you need a reason to drink more alcohol," Joe rolled his eyes, "C'mon, you lightweight, let's go drink."

"Hey," Shulsky protested, jumping off of the chair, "I am not a lightweight!"

The two of them made a beeline for the drinks table, happily finding a bottle of vodka that was perfect for the occasion.

* * *

Tamara had seen Joe Byrne walk away from Tulip Jones with a dopey grin on his face. Then, he had marched over to Shulsky to do shots in celebration. Goddamn, Tamara realized, He didn't want us to make him look bad in front of Jones because he's madly in love with her. I can't believe it! Armed with gossip, Tamara decided to do it anyways.

"So, you and Joe?" she asked casually, strolling up to Tulip who was very clearly trying to hide a matching dopey smile.

"Oh, Agent Knight, we're old news," she laughed.

Tamara raised an eyebrow. "Really? Doesn't seem like it to me," she pointed out. Whatever had happened in the past, there was very obviously still a flame there.

Tulip shrugged. "You can think what you want, Agent Knight," she said cryptically, "This discussion is over." Tamara took this as a cue to leave. As much as she wanted to annoy Byrne, she also didn't want to piss off MI6. She glanced over at Byrne and Shulsky, who were still doing shots, and decided to join them.

* * *

Tamara had decided to join Byrne and Shulsky two shots in. Five rounds later, Shulsky was stumbling about and slurring his speech after consuming such a copious amount of alcohol.

"Take this goddamn lightweight back to his hotel room?" Tamara proposed. She was done with the party; she hadn't achieved her goal of pissing off Byrne, but she met a cute girl, so she was satisfied.

"Sounds good to me," Byrne replied, scanning the room for Tulip. Unfortunately, she had already left.

Joe and Tamara each took one of Ed's arms and draped it around one of their shoulders, acting as human crutches. Just as the trio of CIA agents arrived at the door, they were stopped by Smithers, who was looking a lot more cheerful since the last time Byrne saw him. Perhaps he had had something to drink too? He gave Joe and Tamara each a little gift bag to their respective free hands, and gave Tamara an additional one for "when Ed wakes up."

Ironically enough, it was the same exploding pens that they had stolen from MI6 the year before. Tamara had actually just used one to write her number on Jack's hand. That Smithers. He did always have a good sense of humor.


	8. Jack

8\. JACK

AUTHOR: flowersforzoe

* * *

Jack Starbright wasn't sure why she had allowed Tom to throw Alex a party. She knew he would hate it. The poor kid had just gotten out of the hospital and still had the cast on his ankle from his time in Kenya, and he still had bandages over the aviation-fuel burns on his shoulders. She knew he wanted to just relax heal. However, Tom is impossible to say no to, and the promise of not having to cook for a night was incredibly appealing.

Jack had been doing the dishes when Tom called her. "Yeah, what's up?" She asked, assuming it was Alex.

"Jack!" Tom greeted enthusiastically. "How do you feel about hosting a holiday surprise party for Alex?" Ugh. She really didn't. That would require cooking and cleaning, neither of which Jack wanted to do. Besides, Alex probably wouldn't be up for it.

"Um," Jack said, not wanting to disappoint Tom, "I don't know if Alex would like that. He just got out of the hospital..." She felt bad about letting him down, but she knew that Alex would hate this party.

"Which is exactly why we should hold a celebration!" Tom exclaimed, desperate to get Jack's blessing, "James and I think that we should do something special for Alex, to let him know that he still has friends that care for him."

"Well," Jack sighed. Goddamn, that charming Tom Harris. Alex was going to kill her for agreeing to this. Jack cleared her throat, "I guess it would be alright as long as you have a plan." Jack really felt for her surrogate brother. The poor kid had just been kidnapped and flown to Kenya, which Jack still blamed herself for. When she had seen him again, weeks later, he was in the worst condition she'd ever seen. If anyone deserved a break, it was him, and that's why she agreed.

"Yes!" Tom yelled. Jack could almost hear the awkward fist pump, "Okay, so I'm going to invite all of Alex's friends. He does have friends besides James and me, right? Well, no matter, I'll have to do a bit of lurking—"

"Tom!" Jack interrupted, laughing, "I don't care who you invite. Just take care of the food. You know I can't cook." Jack held back a snort. There was no way that Tom was actually going to find any of Alex's friends. Not even Jack knew much about them. This would be hilarious.

"I'll be sure to tell everyone to bring a dish," Tom said quickly. Jack laughed again. Yeah, her cooking was pretty atrocious. Well, that's what happened when you only spend 10 minutes on a meal, but really, who could be bothered to spend more time than that.

"Good idea," Jack hung up, relieved. Alex was going to kill her…

* * *

In the end, Jack had decided to ruin the surprise party by warning Alex ahead of time. She knew how much the poor kid hated surprises. The last time he had been surprised, he was kidnapped and smuggled out of the country.

Even with the forewarning, Alex had still protested: "Really, Jack! I can't believe you actually agreed to this Tomfoolery," he had paused to laugh at his own pun, "Can't you just call it off? I'm a poor, sick child!" Alex's eyes twinkled with innocence.

Jack laughed. "Come on, Alex, it'll be fun! Or, maybe not," she admitted, "But at least it won't be too long. Four hours, tops." She was really pleading with him at this point.

"Jack," Alex sighed, admitting his defeat, "I still can't believe that you couldn't say no to _Tom Bloody Harris_."

"I know, I know," Jack laughed, "I'm just weak for Tom Harris, I guess." Both she and Alex knew she was just messing around. Jack honestly did just have a difficult time saying no to people. Except MI6, that is.

"Right you are," Alex smiled, pulling her in for a hug. Jack was glad that he had taken it well, though neither one of them was looking forward to this party.

On the day of the party, Tom had burst into their home, his hands full of food that he had cooked. Alex was somewhere...Jack had instructed him to disappear. She trusted him to stay out of trouble for an hour. Okay, that wasn't true. She trusted he could _get out_ of any trouble he had managed to find in the span of an hour.

People even Jack didn't recognize were slowly filing into their house. Sigh. Jack had threatened to beat Tom over the head with a frying pan if everyone wasn't out by 10:00. She and Alex needed their beauty sleep, after all.

By the time Alex had arrived, and everyone had yelled "surprise," the party was actually pretty tame. Jack hadn't recognized very many people: only Mrs. Jones, that bitch from MI6; Sabina; Tom; James Hale; and of course, Alex, himself.

Jack was tasked with opening the door for guests, which only proved to be confusing. She knew next to none of them, which was unsurprising, though slightly irritating. One person she did know, however, was Charlie Grey, who had handed her a box of chocolates without saying a word. Jack thought it was very sweet of him to bring such a nice hostess gift.

She sighed. She wasn't much in the mood for socializing, but she plastered a smile on her face, and politely played hostess, just like her mother had always taught her. She politely said hello to a tight group of four soldiers shoveling food down their throats, a snobby looking girl in a long dress, a hilarious teenage boy wearing a shirt from some cartoon that Sabina used to force Alex to watch with her, and an older black man who couldn't keep his eyes off of the bitch in charge- _I mean Mrs. Jones_ , Jack caught herself. Jones was the only one who Jack refused to speak with. Bitch. Even Jack, who tried her best to keep an open mind, was finding it very hard not to question the sanity of the man who was checking out Mrs. Jackass-er, Mrs. Jones.

Finally, she stumbled upon Tom and Sabina. Jack was happy to see them again. She had missed Alex having Sabina over since she'd moved to America. She was always able to cheer him up, as they had the same snarky sense of humor. And Tom Harris. He and Alex had been friends forever, and he was pretty much a part of their small, dysfunctional family. Jack laughed smiled internally at the thought: London had given her a lot, best of all her two younger surrogate brothers. The trio talked about everything: from school, to London, to America, to of course Alex.

Eventually, the group had broken up when Tom and Sabina had gone to find Alex, who was nowhere to be found. Jack assumed he was hiding out somewhere and observing the party from afar. Her eyes scanned the room to confirm the prediction. Yep. There he was, on the staircase, peeking through the railing. The two made eye contact, and Jack walked up the stairs casually, trying not to be noticed.

"And you say you aren't a spy," she teased him. Alex _was_ spying on the guests, to be fair.

Alex flipped her off playfully. "Shhh, Jack," he laughed quietly, trying not to draw the attention of any other guests, "I'm playing a game. See those soldiers over there?" Jack nodded. Alex was pointing to the group of four who had moved on from the food table to the drinks table. "Yeah? That's K-Unit, the bastards from the SAS. Anyways, they're doing shots-they're on their 4th round-I'm trying to see who throws up first. It's quite fun, actually."

Jack chuckled. _Of course_ that's what Alex would be doing during his party. "Ten pounds says it's the tall one," she challenged him.

"You're on! That's Wolf. I'll bet you ten pounds it's Snake. He's the one to Wolf's left," Alex clarified. The two of them shook hands as the doorbell rang again.

"Okay, Alex, I have to get the door. Try and talk to people!" she pleaded. The poor kid. Jack just wanted him to have a social life.

Alex gave Jack a very dramatic two-fingered salute. "Yes, ma'am," he said in a deep voice. Jack laughed the whole way down the stairs.

Jack had thought that she had seen the most eclectic of the party guests. She was dead wrong. Behind the door were four men, each stranger than the next. The first three were clad in perfect golden-brown tans, t-shirts, shorts, and sandals. In the middle of the fucking winter. The next was a very thin man wearing a three-piece suit, and the last was a man in designer sunglasses walking a dog.

The three men in sandals had rushed straight past her after they had eyed K-Unit. One of them had given her a quick "G'Day, ma'am," which had only confirmed their country of origin. Australia. Suddenly the perfect tans and summer clothes made perfect sense. The other two Jack recognized from her and Alex's brief time together in Australia. ASIS bastards. The two of them joined Charlie Grey and another man Jack didn't recognize before she could ask any further questions. Wait. One man, the one she didn't recognize, had a small child clinging to his leg. God, this party was weird, and it was only 8:00. Jack knew if she didn't get alcohol into her system immediately, she wouldn't get through the next two hours.

She walked over to the drinks table, but before she poured herself one, she made eye contact with the most beautiful blonde.

"Well hello there," the blonde said to Jack. Her voice was impossibly smooth, which matched her perfect-fitting suit, "I'm Tamara."

"Jack Starbright," she replied, "How are you?" _Goddamnit, Jack! Is that the best you can do!?_ Unfortunately, it was. To say the least, she was a little intimidated by Tamara's perfect suit. And her perfect blonde curls. And her smooth, perfect voice...

"Just perfect," Tamara said casually, unknowingly echoing Jack's thoughts. Weird. A smile forming on her deep red lips, she said: "So, what's your Alex story? Everyone around here seems to have one."

Jack laughed ironically. "More like stor _ies_. I've been watching him since he was seven, and became his legal guardian last year." Tamara nodded. Most of Jack's stories were about little Alex destroying shit, which really wasn't where she wanted this conversation to go. Taking the focus off of herself, Jack said: "What about you, Tamara, how do you know Alex?"

"Well, we met while I was working undercover for a man named Nikolai Drevin. Wait. That's where I've seen you before, right? The Waterfront Hotel, remember?" Tamara flashed her best smile at Jack. _Holy shit_ , _that's right!_

"Oh my god, that's right! I'd forgotten all about that," Jack laughed, showing all of her perfect teeth. She felt incredibly stupid for not remembering the woman, but that embarrassment quickly faded away when Tamara started speaking again in her slow, sexy voice.

"I hadn't realized I was that forgettable," Tamara projected, winking at Jack.

"No, no" Jack exclaimed quickly, "Trust me. You are far from forgettable."

Tamara pulled her close with her free hand, and then they were kissing. When they had finally come up for air, Jack licked her lips and smiled again: "Far from forgettable, indeed." Tamara pulled her back in.

When she and Jack finally pulled apart, they noticed Alex staring at them, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Oh shit," Jack laughed, looking at her shocked 'brother.' This was going to be one hell of a conversation...

"Don't worry about it, Jack," Tamara soothed, "He'll be fine. He's Alex, after all."

Jack smiled and regained eye contact with Tamara who was holding her hand;, "Indeed he is. Can I see you again?" She wanted to stay with Tamara, but she knew she had to go find Alex first.

"Of course you can, just call me," Tamara flicked up her eyebrows and sauntered away. Jack was just about to ask how, but then she noticed that Tamara had sketched her number onto Jack's left hand.

Armed with a hot girl's phone number and a dorky smile permanently plastered to her face, Jack set off to talk to Alex.

Alex was leaning against one of the walls, her arms crossed in front of him. "Soooo" he started, dragging out the word, "You and Tamara?" Jack was glad to see that, despite his hardened demeanor, his words were playful.

"Great deduction skills," Jack teased him back, "No wonder MI6 can't get enough of you."

"Just like you can't get enough of Tamara!" Alex snarked back.

"So, you don't care?" Jack clarified, cutting to the chase.

"Of course not, Jack," he said hugging her. Whispering into her ear, he said, "We just need a system. Y'know, like a sock-on-the-door-handle, or-"

"Alex!" Jack exclaimed, playfully smacking him upside the head.

"Ouch, Jack. You'd better save that energy for Tamara, I mean-"

"Goodbye, Alex!" Jack interrupted and walked away. She was glad that Alex was cool with the whole Jack-and-Tamara-situation. She smiled to herself as she went to finally get her drink. _Wow, what a night it's been._


	9. Mr Grey

9\. MR GREY

AUTHOR: Nightshade2412

* * *

Charlie Grey had been surprised at his invitation, to say the least. First of all, it was strange enough that a teacher was invited to a student's party, even if he'd never actually had Alex in one of his classes. He'd also been decidedly cool with Alex ever since the boy had run off on the trip to Venice. He was tempted to politely decline, but Tom had made it clear that there'd be plenty of other adults there and had been adamant that he should come, and when he remembered all the rumours that swept through the school every time Alex made an appearance, he realised that his pool of friends had been significantly reduced.

Besides, that red-haired woman living with him had been very pretty. Jack, wasn't it? So, in the end, he dragged himself away from in front of the holiday reruns on TV _(marking those essays could wait until after Christmas, right?)_ and cycled the familiar route to the Rider residence in Chelsea. There were no books in his basket this time, just Cheese Twists and a box of chocolates that was really intended for Jack, not the party, as long as he could smuggle them past Tom.

He managed to hand it to her on the doorstep - she was pleasantly surprised, but he didn't get time to talk because someone else was coming up the path behind him and she quickly ushered him through. The room was already overcrowded when he arrived. He recognised a few teenagers from Brookland. Tom was bouncing around, talking to everyone excitedly, and James Hale was standing on the arm of the sofa hanging up some final streamers, and there was a little group hanging around by the buffet table. But apart from that there was an eclectic mix of strangers. Tom was right about there being plenty of adults, but he was lost over who to start with.

He took a few steps in the direction of a group of twenty-somethings laughing raucously in the corner, but they were all ridiculously muscular and looked like they knew each other and so he stopped, intimidated. Maybe later?

"Ah-ha! Hey there, Mr Grey. Charlie. Can I call you Charlie?"

Tom had appeared at his elbow, and although he was grateful for the assistance in working out what he was supposed to be doing he couldn't get a word in edgeways to say that _no, you can't call me that, I'm your teacher._

"You look a bit lost there - ooh, cheese straws, let me take those - so let's see... Tulip!" Tom caught the sleeve of a woman who looked like she was dressed for the office rather than a casual party, in a smart skirt suit. "Charlie, this is Tulip - excuse me, must dash."

And he was gone again, disappearing into the crowd.

"It's Mrs Jones," the woman said wearily, as though she'd already made that correction far too many times today already.

"Mr Grey," he responded, offering a sympathetic smile as he accepted her handshake. "I'm a teacher at Alex's school."

"Yes," she answered. It was as though she already knew exactly who he was, although he didn't understand how she possibly could.

"Er... and you?" he added, when she didn't automatically reply.

"I was a colleague of his uncle," she answered briefly, glancing at something over his shoulder, already distracted from the conversation. "Excuse me, I think I see someone I know..."

She moved off, muttering something under her breath that sounded like _exploding baubles_ , heading for an incredibly fat man who had just come through the door. So much for that reprieve - he was back to standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. He eyed the food, wondering if he could escape by hovering over at the table, but the Brookland teenagers were still there and he recognised a couple from his classes.

He turned his back on them and headed across the room instead, weaving his way through clusters of people having animated discussions, with accents from all over the world. Several Americans, a few Australians - did that man have a dog with him? - and some of them seemed to ooze authority.

Not for the first time, he wondered how much went on in Alex Rider's life that he didn't know about. He, like practically everyone else at the comprehensive, didn't believe the endless stream of doctor's notes for a second.

He mentioned as much to one of the other guests, one of those scary military-looking men, but though the man confirmed the appendicitis, he was left more confused than ever. What did he mean when he said Alex "trained" with them? (What kind of name was Snake, anyway?)

Alex had been quiet lately, though. He had only passed him a couple of times in the corridors in the final week of term when the boy had shown up again, but he had looked pale in a slightly sallow, unhealthy way, with dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had kept his eyes down and winced when someone bumped into him. Charlie wouldn't be surprised if he had spent some time in hospital, but he didn't think it was for the flu, or measles, or whatever the latest excuse had been.

He didn't get a chance to greet Alex - he was too busy fending off a crowd of well-wishers, looking hopelessly over his shoulder for Tom and failing to catch his attention. Better to give him some space, Charlie decided. He was about to try to catch a minute with Jack but then he heard the doorbell ring again and she disappeared again to let the latecomer in.

He poured himself some lemonade and waited for her to reappear again, but when she did, she was whisked off elsewhere before he got a chance and he was left facing the new guests. There was a tall man with a beard holding the hand of a small boy that was maybe four or five. The man smiled at him expectantly and he had no choice but to introduce himself.

"Er- hello, I'm Charlie Grey," he said.

"James Adair," the man greeted. They shook hands.

"And who's this little guy?" Charlie added, grinning at the boy peering up from where he was plastered to his father's side.

"This is my eldest son, John," the man said. "I have two kids, but the younger came down with chicken pox so he's staying at home with my wife. John's already had it, thank goodness."

He grinned in sympathy and then asked the question that he wished he could put to all of the guests here.

"So - how do you know Alex?"

"I've only met him once, actually," James said. "I suppose you could say that I had a connection with his father. Alex was a bit… confused, and Mrs Jones asked me to clear a few things up. She knew more than I did about the whole affair, but probably thought Alex would take it better coming from me. I'm not quite sure why I'm here, but for some reason I got an invite and I guess I wanted to make sure he was doing ok now."

"It's certainly been a difficult year for him," Charlie agreed, glancing over to make sure Alex and his students were still occupied and out of earshot. "I teach Humanities at his school - not that he's in my classes, I know him because I tutored him over the summer - but he's a popular topic in the staffroom, to say the least."

"Really?" James said. "How much does the school know about him?"

The way his question was phrased made Mr Grey wonder what Adair knew - what there was _to_ know. He pushed the thought to one side - Alex was a good kid, he was sure of that, even if he had caused the headache of the century when he disappeared on the school trip. And he was barely fifteen.

"His uncle died about a year ago, and he's been out of school more often than in it since then," Charlie answered. "A string of illnesses, or at least that's what we've been told. Nobody really believes it, though. He comes back injured, bruises and burns and broken bones. The kids pass round rumours of him being a druggie, or in a gang, and even a few of the teachers seem to buy into it. At least, none of us believe the endless supply of doctor's notes…"

"Whatever he is, or does, I think I can safely say that he doesn't take drugs, nor is he in a gang," James said quietly.

"Yeah," he sighed, "I just wish I knew how to help him, that's all."

They shared a moment in silence. Young John was bored of the adults' conversation, leaning against his father's leg as he looked round with interest. He let out a gurgle of laughter as he watched an explosion of glitter coating a girl in a velvet dress, who shrieked and stomped and stormed out. Charlie looked over too - what the hell had that been? Probably a teenage prank. At least he hadn't seen who'd done it. He didn't want to go into teacher-mode.

"Excuse me."

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see a slim, fair man, about his age, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"I'm Marc Damon," he said, his Australian accent pronounced. "How would you like to play a game of Monopoly?"

Mr Grey glanced at James and shrugged at him.

"Sure," he said, "why not?"

They followed him to a low coffee table. One side was already occupied - it was the man with the dog, wearing designer sunglasses even though they were indoors.

"Who've you found for me, Damon?" the man asked, leaning back.

"This is Charlie Grey and James Adair," Marc said.

Mr Grey frowned - he didn't remember introducing himself. He remembered how Mrs Jones had also seemed to know exactly who he was. Had he missed out on some pre-party memo?

"Graham's son," the man said, nodding. Charlie glanced over at James, who smiled tightly in response.

"That's right. And this is my own son, John."

"Yes, I heard the story.

John seemed more interested in playing with the dog's fur than paying attention to the confusing introductions.

"I'm Ethan Brooke, and this is Garth," he continued, stroking the labrador's head. "Thank you for agreeing to play with me. "Will, ah, little John be joining us?"

"...He can be on my team," James said, recognising that there was no way the boy would stay focused long enough to finish a game.

"Please." Brooke made a sweeping gesture, indicating that they took a seat.

Marc was already setting up the board and it was immediately obvious that this wasn't the classic London set Charlie had grown up with, Old Kent Road to Mayfair. For starters, the places were different, all different locations in Australia, and everything was bigger - the squares, the playing pieces, even the dice. He realised, as he noticed the ridges and watched Marc guide Ethan's hand to show him where "GO" was, that the elder man must be blind, and wondered why he hadn't seen it before.

He had adapted amazingly well to the handicap, though. After the initial guidance he moved with perfect precision. Charlie realised, as he handed over a sizeable stack of notes, that however harmless he might appear at first glance, this was not a man to be reckoned with.

He kept half an eye on Jack when he could, but she only paused by them once, and if he wasn't mistaken her tone was particularly frosty with the Australians. Later, he saw her lean in to kiss a pretty blond woman, and his heart did a painful flip.

He sighed and knocked back his glass of wine. Ah well, at least he wasn't standing around awkwardly anymore. He shifted to a more comfortable position and settled in to salvage what he could of his losses.


	10. K-Unit

10\. K-UNIT

AUTHOR: EpicFangirl46

* * *

The best thing about this party, in Wolf's opinion anyways, was the food. He stood in a corner surrounded by the rest of his unit eyeing some of the newcomers to the party. Fox was the only one who really expressed any interest in socializing but held back to stay with his unit mates.

"Can someone remind me why we decided to come here on leave?" Wolf grumbled to K-Unit.

"Because it is for Cub, Wolf. If I recall correctly, it _was_ your idea to come. You _were_ the first one to receive an invitation," Snake answered a small smirk growing on his lips.

"We're all wrong sometimes, Wolf. It happens, you _will_ live. I know it may feel hard at first, but time heals all wounds," Fox told Wolf, trying to keep a straight face while holding back his laughter.

"Shut up, Fox."

"We all know you don't mean that, Wolf. Oh, Cub! Cub! Cub! Cub! Cubby! Cub!" Eagle called. Alex looked over, motioning to his friends before walking over to the cluster of soldiers.

"Hey guys. How have you been?"

"We've been good. Sergeant gave us a couple weeks leave for the holidays."

"I'm glad. Have you been enjoying the party? Tom really outdid himself. I don't know how I feel about how he stalked my Facebook though…." Alex said, laughing slightly.

"Does Blunt really let you have it? You being you and all," Fox asked.

"If Blunt has a problem with it he can shove off. He can shove off anyways if he wants."

"Nothing's changed?"

"Of course not. If it had most of these people wouldn't be here," Alex retorted. Fox laughed.

"Stay safe, Cub."

"You too. I expect you guys to still give me hell next time we run into each other."

"Nothing's changed for me, Double-O-Nothing," Wolf replied with a small grin. Alex laughed before rejoining the party.

"Okay, you social caterpillars, I want all of you to go and talk to at least one person outside of our unit," Fox commanded.

"Caterpillar? Fox, you know I am a butterfly," Eagle said, hurt. Fox sighed.

"Just go socialize. Once that fails we can meet back in our corner to lick your wounds," Fox told them shoving them into the crowd.

* * *

Wolf immediately ran into a girl about Alex's age, successfully knocking her into the ground.

"I'm so sorry. My friend shoved me and I smacked into you," he apologized, helping her to her feet.

"It's fine. My name is Sabina by the way. How do you know Alex?"

"Err…. I'm Wolf. Alex trained with us when he went to Brecon Beacons a while ago. You?"

"Friend and damsel-in-distress. Alex has helped me out of a couple rough spots. So you are... " Sabina trailed off.

"SAS," Wolf replied, shifting his weight awkwardly.

"Oh. Alex told me a little about you guys."

"Nothing good I imagine."

"He was fond of somethings, others not as much," Sabina divulged. Wolf nodded. "I'm going to go find other damsels-in-distress. Have a nice night."

Wolf sighed as she walked away, silently thanking God for getting him out of that awkward situation. He shook his head before returning to the corner and grabbing some food.

* * *

Snake stood, hapless, in the middle of the room looking around. He eventually gathered enough of an idea of what to say before walking up to another guest.

"Hello. How are you?" Snake asked.

"Er….Good. I'm Charlie Grey. I'm one of the teachers at Alex's school. You?"

"I'm Snake. Alex stayed with me and my mates a while ago for a couple weeks."

"Ahh. Shame about Alex's illnesses isn't it? Though no one at the school really believes in them," Charlie confided to Snake.

"I know a little bit about that. I'm a medic myself. I heard about his appendicitis. It truly is unfortunate for someone so young to face with everything he's had to," Snake said shaking his head before another guest jumped in.

"I agree with you. I'm Tamara," the woman introduced, American accent obvious in her voice. The two men introduced themselves. "So how do know Alex?"

"I'm a teacher at Alex's school."

"Alex came and trained with us for a couple weeks a while ago."

"Alex sure gets around. We've helped each other out of several tight pinches," Tamara said. "He is the luckiest teenager I have ever met. Kudos to your Unit."

"We don't deserve any praise. We made his life hell when he was with us. But I agree. He has incredible luck," Snake told her. "I need a drink." With that Snake left the two to join Wolf in the corner by the food.

* * *

Eagle smiled as he introduced himself to one of, whom he assumed anyways, was Alex's school friends.

"James Sprintz, damsel-in-distress. How do you know our mutual friend?"

"Alex trained with my unit last year for a couple of weeks. You're from Point Blanc aren't you?" Eagle exclaimed. "That's where Alex came to your rescue. My unit was a part of the rescue squad. I thought you looked vaguely familiar."

"So you were one of the knights in dark armour," James said. "Well thank you for your help."

"No problem, fair damsel James," Eagle replied, striking a superhero pose. James laughed.

"One of the funniest knights I've ever met, despite the dark armour."

"Why thank you, damsel James. You are one of the most masculine damsels-in-distress I have ever met."

The two kept continued to joke at and with each other as Wolf and Snake watched confused from the corner.

* * *

Fox laughed as he watched his unit mates struggle and build confidence at talking to others, pitying Wolf who was stuck with a teenage girl who he had run into.

"Thanks for making them do this. I don't think I've seen Sab or Wolf so awkward before," Alex told him grinning.

"I told them that they were social caterpillars and to socialize with others for once. Eagle was very offended and left to go defend his "social butterfly" status." Alex rolled his eyes.

"Of course he did."

"It's Eagle, Alex. You can't expect anything different from him. He's the only one who might ever have hope in our poor, poor K-Unit," Fox confided, shaking his head.

"I don't know. There may be some hope for them. After all, you _did_ call them social caterpillars. I should go rescue James before Eagle talks him to death. Talk to you later?"

"Of course, see you later, Cub."

The two separated paths headed for their targets; Alex to James and Eagle; Fox to the rest of K-Unit in the corner.

"Fox. Snake and I have come to an agreement. We hate you. Don't ever make us do that again," Wolf growled.

"I was trying to break you out of your social cocoons. Unfortunately you blokes are in worst shape than I thought and Eagle seems to be the only one who enjoyed himself. Why can't you be more like Eagle?" Fox asked them, laughing as both of them shoved him into Eagle sending both Fox and Eagle to the ground. Wolf laughed.

The camaraderie was good, but the food was still the best thing about this party, in Wolf's opinion anyways.


	11. Aussies

11\. AUSSIES

AUTHOR: wolfern

* * *

As far as work-covered travel, London in winter was a pretty good deal. It was a relief to escape the sweltering humidity of summer at home. On the worst days, taking a shower or a dip in the ocean made no difference temperature- or wetness-wise.

Besides, many Australians considered working or studying or both in the UK as almost a rite-of-passage, one Texas had missed since he'd gone straight into uni and then training and then proper work in the army. Scooter, the oldest of them, had tended bars during his gap year, but – to no-one's surprise – he remembered little of that time. And so the four of them were _heaps keen_ when the offer popped up, even if it _was_ a bit unusual being ordered by the ASIS head to attend the party of a British teenager they'd only met once, on a mission that had left one of their members dead. Nevertheless, their families were simply relieved they wouldn't be facing landmines and bullets but diplomacy dilemmas instead.

Unfortunately, their first diplomatic dispute came before the mission had taken even its first breath – when they dressed for the party.

"Mate, you are not wearing _that_!"

Texas looked down self-consciously at his t-shirt, shorts and thongs. "What's wrong with it? There're no stains, no holes. I bought this shirt last Wednesday."

Scooter rolled his eyes. "Pete's sake, don't be ridiculous. Top Enders, I tell you." He gestured at himself and X-Ray, both wearing – in varying shades – dress pants. "At least tell me you have jeans…"

"Mum threw them all out two weeks ago. They'd faded. In the sun…"

"Fuckin' oath…"

"Alright, alright! Could I maybe wear one of your spares?"

They tried, but much like his namesake, Texas was too big.

"Right," said Scooter, eventually. "I can only see one solution to our conundrum. We'll all have to dress like Texas." He glanced at the X-Ray. "If we wear it like a uniform, it'll look better."

"Better?" X-Ray sniggered. "Might as well wear singlets and bring a goon sack. To complete the look."

Scooter pinned him with a stare.

"Just saying…"

And so they arrived in style, accompanying ASIS heads Marc Damon, who opted to stay silent on the matter, and Ethan Brooke, who was – for once, thankfully – blind.

Their first port of call once entering the room was of course the other group of four burly men: their allies, or 'try-hard Poms' as described by Texas upon espying their neatly buttoned shirts and trousers.

Scooter went first. "G'day. Nice weather we're having."

The biggest of the Brits grunted, while the skinniest, a Scotsman, answered with a laugh. "Yeah, a bit warmer this year than last, so you'll be right at home."

"Yeah, cold enough for ya?" said Texas.

"Yeah," said the smallest of the Brits.

The Scottish bloke stuck his hand out. "I'm Snake. This is Wolf, Eagle and Fox."

"Scooter. This is X-Ray and Texas. Got any grog here? I reckon a few cold ones will do us all some good."

"I'm sorry?"

"Have you got any grog? Fourex? Stubbies?"

"I'm dryer than a drover's dog," Texas chimed in, deadpan.

X-Ray rolled his eyes. "Booze, piss, beer?"

"Piss, eh?" chuckled Eagle. "I like it. I think there's some plonk being passed around, but I'm not too sure about beer – sorry, piss."

X-Ray's eyes lit up. "Can't go wrong with the old bubbly! I'll hunt it down."

"I'll go with him," said Texas. "On the off chance there's amber, how many are we having?"

Wolf growled at him – growled! – "None for me, thanks." Scooter hadn't ever thought he'd see a stare to rival that of his teammate's – there was a reason he was named 'X-Ray' – but maybe this could be the one.

"I'll have yours then, hey?" Scooter jumped in smoothly. "Just grab a few, Tex. We'll fight over them when you get back."

"Cheers," said Texas, leaving the oldest of the Australians to fend against his older counterparts. Perhaps it was for the better.

"So I assume you know Alex from his work?"

The soldier named Wolf shifted. Scooter wouldn't have noticed, but it was a familiar reaction.

"We trained with him," Snake explained.

"He's a good kid," said Scooter. "Brave." He hoped he was more subtle than Wolf, remembering how they'd led Alex to the minefield and shooting exercise.

Fox scoffed. "Suicidal, more like."

Scooter looked at him closely. The man was similarly muscled to the rest of his unit, but he stood apart, holding himself differently. He also looked very familiar. "How's your arm?" Scooter asked, taking a gamble.

Fox – Scooter now remembered he'd been introduced back then as Agent Daniels – smiled. "Not bad. A little stiff. But as I recall, your team lost a member."

Scooter stiffened.

"I was sorry to hear that." The sharp edge to his gaze seemed to soften.

"Thank you," said Scooter, not sure he meant it.

"What do you mean, suicidal?" said Eagle, staring at Fox.

"Scooter knows what I'm talking about."

Scooter refused to be baited.

Wolf spoke. "Remember the train?"

Snake and Eagle both seemed to shudder, and Scooter wondered what the story was there, but he didn't want to ask.

Just as the silence was growing a little long, X-Ray returned, with a bottle of sparkling and a handful of glasses. "As promised!"

"Thanks mate. Where's Texas?"

X-Ray shrugged. "Think I saw him dancing with some posh girl. I left him to her." He glanced around at the group. "Why the long faces?"

"We were discussing our idiotic governments," said Fox breezily, accepting a glass.

X-Ray groaned. "Tell me about it! The way Australian politics is going, we'll be lucky to –"

Scooter cut him off. "Why don't we go talk to Alex? He's the reason we came."

"That and the munchies!"

Firmly, Scooter herded his teammate away. "Good to talk to you," he said to the Brits, who nodded with varying degrees of authenticity.

Texas joined them as they moved away. "Strewth! Did you see that sheila? She's deadset gorgeous, ay!"

"Rack off," said X-Ray without feeling. The thing they'd learnt about working with Texas was that they needed to speak to him in his own language.

As always, Texas just giggled inappropriately.

They reached Alex as he was left by the most massive man Scooter had ever seen. "Hey," the teenager greeted them. "Good to see you could come."

"It was an effort," said X-Ray. "We managed it somehow, but. Here, we brought you a pressie. Couldn't get you a proper barbecue and prawns, but this is heaps better."

Alex took the gifts and it was difficult for Scooter not to grin at his dubious look. "Vegemite, thanks…"

"Have it with lots of butter or marge on the cheapest white toast you can find," said Texas helpfully.

"There's Tim Tams too, and Shapes," Scooter said. "You might find them a bit more palatable."

Alex thanked them again. "And, um, I'm sorry about Sparks. I –"

"Don't worry about it," said Scooter gently. He suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for Alex, who was even younger than Sparks had been. "Look, it was good to see you again." He held out his hand to Alex, who shook it. "If you ever come back to Australia, look us up."

"I'll do that."

Looking into Alex's too-serious eyes, Scooter hoped he would.


	12. Sergeant

12\. SERGEANT

AUTHOR: cuby18

* * *

To say that Sergeant Morrison was surprised upon getting his notification that he was invited to a party that one of Cub's friends was throwing for him was an understatement. At first he just dismissed it as a stupid joke from one of his subordinates that failed to learn that someone does not to play any kind of jokes on him unless they enjoyed endless repeatings of the obstacle course, but as time wore on he was just glad to have something to take his mind off paperwork, and when he got another notification his curiosity won and he decided to take the bait. He wrote back to inquire some more about the supposed party and its other invitees and received some information that put a whole thing into a completely new perspective. If he was to believe that ''Tom'', half of the intelligence personnel from English speaking countries were coming, as well as his own K-Unit. He frowned some more when he remembered the snippets of conversation that he overheard when he was leaving his last meeting with Blunt about their joint operation. While exiting the office he almost bumped into that fat man – what was his name again? Smyth, Smither?– that was standing there and talking with Jones about the propriety of bringing glitter to a party and whether or not Tom would enjoy getting anything special himself as the party organiser.

At the time he paid no heed to their words, but now… He still remembered how MI6 managed to snatch one of his agents less than a year ago. Fox was a part of his best Unit and after he left they needed three months to finally fill the empty space in his old Unit after Wolf scared the first five options to the point where they begged to be transferred anywhere with at least a few miles between them and the crazy Unit leader, even if it meant leaving their prestigious position in the SAS in exchange for a return to a regular army despite all the effort they had to put to even get a chance to join SAS. All the while the rest of the Unit was just standing there in obvious enjoyment, letting Wolf speak for them. Just thinking about that nightmare repeating if MI6 got any other unit member in their clutches sent shivers down his spine. There was no way he would be leaving any of his soldiers alone with any of them, especially in the vicinity of alcohol. The only consolation was that Blunt wasn't attending, especially as he didn't have enough time to gather any enforcement to take with him to the party to help and restrain their attempts.

Still, there was a chance of it being a real party, not just MI6's ploy to steal some of his men. It was a small chance, but in his position it was imperative to look at a problem from all possible angles, meaning that he had to check the other invitees to see how they fit into the equation. That Harris person seemed pretty inconspicuous, no obvious connection to any intelligence, his only connection to Cub was that he was his supposed best friend… but as it was him that came up with the idea for the party he might as well be on to a plan. Although, he didn't really believe MI6 would lower themselves to a point where they would issue the invitations to a 'funcy' party. If there was everything at least a bit predictable about Blunt it was that he had some modicum of decorum and that he was very unwilling to lower his standards when it came to it.

He searched on. James Sprintz: billionaire's son, no apparent value for either MI6 or anyone else, Sabina Pleasure: reporter's daughter, might know something about her father's work, or, maybe, another friend; the same went for Hale, nothing worth mentioning. He almost closed the not-so-legal site, when the last name popped up. Fiona Friend. It might be a coincidence, but he remembered someone with the same name from the time when he was still a soldier about to be promoted to the officer. Marcus Friend, younger brother to Sir David Friend was a good soldier, it was a right shame when he was forced to retire from the field due to a minor injury that got his family on his case when they demanded his honourable discharge. Sadly he couldn't say the same about his older brother or even his parents, but he could still talk to his niece. She might have got her uncle's personality.

Standing in the shadowed corner of the room with a beer in hand he couldn't help but think that he had never been more mistaken in his life. Speaking to Fiona was … mentally and physically exhausting, more so than even RTI and the obstacle course combined. He didn't believe it possible to talk about one's superiority and wealth for ten minutes straight without noticing that you're boring your conversationalist half to death and that they couldn't care less about your words. But Fiona proved him wrong. If he ever heard another word about how large and ideal for hunting their estate was, it would be way too soon. To think that he looked forward to that conversation; the mere thought made him nauseous, and he prided on being able to remain unperturbed no matter the situation he found himself in.

When one of the Australian soldiers (that were as a whole way too cheerful and easygoing for his liking – he would show them real army if they ever visited Brecon Beacon) came to ask her to dance he was so grateful he could kiss him right there and then, but managed to quench the instinct almost immediately. Instead he further busied himself by searching for potential threats: he quickly noticed the fat man, Smithers he heard someone called him, dealing out gifts, and, remembering the conversation he witnessed, he unobtrusively moved deeper into the shadowed corner to avoid any dangerous 'gifts' that he was bound to be carrying on his person if rumours (and sadly also personal experience that he was trying hard to erase from memory) were anything to go by.

As time went on he came to several conclusions: the food was surprisingly good, booze also, and it looked like while the people in attendance obviously had some ulterior motives for being there, these mostly revolved around how to secure the attention of their beloved, and not around stealing his soldiers to work for them. At the same time, he could sympathise with Shulsky, who was sitting in the corner nursing a beer and not speaking to anyone. It seemed to him like he was dragged there rather unwillingly by his boss that set his sights on Jones. He was just contemplating if he could perhaps be persuaded to join the army (if intelligence was allowed to steal their employees why couldn't he?) as he seemed too devoted to his work and didn't care much for parties, when Byrne came back from his conversation with Jones, walking on air, and dragged him away to celebrate.

With no one decent left to talk to – he spoke to Cub briefly (or Alex Rider as he got to know) to congratulate him on surviving this far and giving him a coupon for a month in his camp whenever he felt like it as he truly didn't perform at all that shabby the first time and he could use someone to demonstrate to all lazy recruits that they're largely just a waste of space with no hope to ever meet the criteria – as he didn't really feel any need to converse with intelligence officers more than strictly necessary, he was about to leave when he noticed Tulip standing alone, and, deciding to have at least some fun, he walked over to her.

''So, I hear you've decided it's prime time to rekindle some old flames?'' he asked her, enjoying her obvious annoyance at having been asked the same thing numerous times already after her conversation with Byrne.

Her sigh was all the answer he needed. ''What are you doing here, Morrison?'' she finally asked.

He shrugged. He wasn't about to tell her that he was spying on her. ''Just checking to see what Rider thinks of being in the army,'' he said nonchalantly, searching the table for some more food. He knew that she was very protective when it came to Alex and other agencies, and he also knew that she didn't expect another attempt to take him away to come from a new direction.

''I don't think he would agree,'' was all Jones said after a moment of silence.

He grinned. ''Would you like some pizza?'' he offered. ''Since you have already had my soldiers run a check on it,'' he added with just a right touch of annoyance. It wouldn't do for her to know that he was waiting for the very same thing before eating anything himself. Luckily the unit showed at least some of their training by coming to the party on time so that he didn't have to wait that long to assuage his suspicions about there being something in the food. Although he was still miffed about the salute they gave Jones upon the arrival, something that solidified his belief that she was plotting something, he was ready to let it be given the new information that he gathered during the party.

She scoffed lightly at his words. ''Like you weren't doing the same.'' And here went his plan. Tulip was always just a bit too good at her job and way too perceptive for his liking.

Knowing when he lost he simply nodded at her, knowing that nothing he might have said would change her mind.

He once again headed towards his corner, exchanging some pleasantries with the redheaded woman that opened the door when he arrived and whom he deemed surprisingly reasonable despite her obvious American accent, and slowly ate the food on his plate. He noticed, with no small amount of satisfaction, that K-Unit seemed to finally take notice of him and he took great pleasure in watching them squirm after quickly standing to attention, Fox included. Throwing them a mean smile that showed off some of his teeth, he made his way back and sat down on the chair that gave him a perfect view of the room and the spectacle that happened soon after he sat down.

It took all of his self-control not to choke on the drink when five glitter bombs went off simultaneously and covered the whole unit and that annoying Fiona girl in glitters, pink for the soldiers and green for the little menace. This new development even somehow lessened the last remnants of fury that enveloped him during their conversation. He was even willing to listen about how rich and influent her family was once again if it meant seeing her covered in something disgusting. And watching her trying to keep her holier-than-thou attitude after spilling a drink over her dress on top of the glitters… it really made his day. And if he accidentally bumped into Smithers on his way out and congratulated him, who would ever know? All in all, he thought as he exited the house, the whole ordeal didn't turn out half as bad as it promised to be, especially for a 'funcy' party.


	13. James Adair

13\. JAMES ADAIR

AUTHOR: Nightshade2412

* * *

James caught sight of Alex leaving the room and quickly put John in charge of playing for him. He wasn't doing that well anyway, so if he ended up bankrupt it was only what he expected, and with any luck they might end up being extra nice because his son was so much cuter than he was. So he excused himself and wove through the crowd. He nodded at Mrs Jones, who smiled in return, but he kept his focus on the head of messy blond hair bobbing across the room.

He followed Alex down the hall into the kitchen and saw him splashing his face with water over the sink. He hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly on the doorframe.

"Got a moment?" he asked.

Alex turned and hid his weariness gracefully, grabbing a tea towel to dry his face and beckoning him in.

"Sure," he said with false cheer. "It's good to see you again, Mr Adair."

"Just James is fine," he said awkwardly. "Sorry for intruding when you're trying to get a minute to yourself."

Alex smiled in recognition of the truth of his words. "I'm getting a little overwhelmed, I must admit. I wasn't expecting so many people."

James heard the unspoken question - what was he doing here, with only the barest connection between them?

"I just wanted to check in with you," he said, "see how you've been since we last met."

Alex sighed and leaned back against the counter.

"It's been… a weird couple of months."

James remembered something his father had said when he asked about Alex.

"Did you really go into space?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"I did."

"Really?" A massive grin split his face in childish excitement. "What was it like?"

"Well, aside from the madman trying to kill me…" his voice softened and his gaze was somewhere far away, "it was beautiful. Incredible." He shrugged. "Of course, the space sickness once I got back was a bitch."

"What else have you done?" His eagerness was reminiscent of Tom, which might have been what loosened Alex up enough to talk.

"Well, I ended up in Australia when I returned to Earth." He drummed his fingers against the counter behind him. "I met my godfather there."

James raised his eyebrows - he didn't sound particularly happy about it.

Alex took a deep breath. Then another. "It turned out he was the one who killed my parents." He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

James sucked in a breath. "I… that's awful."

"Yeah, well." He heaved a sigh and changed the subject. "I hope you're having a little more luck with your family?"

"Well, my youngest has chickenpox, but overall I'd say we're thriving." James tried not to feel guilty for his own good fortune in the face of Alex's bad luck. "You must meet John. He came with me."

Alex gave a small smile. "I'd like that."

"It's a gift, it really is," James rushed to get the words out. "Being able to have what I have. I thank your father for what he did every day."

Alex looked at the tiled floor, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'm sorry," James stammered, "I don't mean to upset you. I just want you to know - if there's anything I can do, anything at all…" He trailed off.

Alex took a deep breath. "Yeah."

James smiled nervously. "Well, I'd better get back to the game. Do come say hello."

"I'll only be a moment," Alex promised.

James closed the door quietly behind him, leaving the teenager in peace.

He took his seat again and showered his son with effusive praise for winning them back a little ground. If it sounded a little distant, no one seemed to notice.

"Good evening, chaps!"

He looked up and his first impression was of an enormous floral shirt, before he saw the man behind it. He had a bag dangling limply from one hand, only a few things left in the bottom to keep up a small pendulum motion.

"I just had a few last party favours…" he said. "Mr Brooke?"

"Thank you, Smithers, but I'd rather not take anything of yours when I can't see what it is."

The man let out a hearty chuckle and moved on. He gave Mr Grey a pen and then held one out to Marc Damon.

"It won't explode, will it?" the Australian asked dubiously.

"Why would you ask that?" Smithers grinned, giving him a wink that wasn't at all reassuring. Mr Grey set his down gingerly on the table, looking between them as though he were watching a tennis match.

"As for this little gentleman…" Smithers said, peering down into the bag and pulling out a colourful dinosaur model. "Marvelous. Try this."

"It is safe, isn't it?" James asked quickly. He hadn't met this Smithers chap before, but judging by the amount of military and intelligence personnel in this room he wasn't about to go taking any chances.

"What? Of course not, my dear fellow. Although-"

He was interrupted by an earsplitting roar.

"Well, I was just about to warn you of that, but it appears our little friend has already found it - if you pull the tail-"

John demonstrated obligingly.

"I don't suppose there's an off switch?" James asked hopefully. That was going to get tiresome very quickly."

"Hmm, what? Oh, no, I didn't think of that. Sorry."

James grimaced. He'd have to hold it hostage for a while - a lot of heads had turned in their direction, and several had looked distinctly twitchy. John was reluctant to give it up, but he was distracted by Alex's arrival, and James managed to tug it away without too much fuss.

"Trying to deafen us, Smithers?" Alex asked cheerfully. He popped open a can of coke and crouched down. "You must be John. Hello. I'm Alex."

James smiled at the sight. Alex's eyes were shining, and though he seemed a bit nervous he easily became engrossed in playing with the boy until his friends called him over again. He would make a great dad someday, James thought, if he ever got the chance

He pushed the melancholy thought that came with that away. This was Alex's party. The room was full of people who all cared about him in their own odd ways.

He just had to hope that Alex would be ok.


	14. James Hale

14\. JAMES HALE

AUTHOR: dalekchung

* * *

They were a strange, eclectic bunch, James thought, scanning the occupants of the room suspiciously. It was hard to fathom how all these people were merely connected through a single teenage boy. That begged the question: how did Alex know these people? James could understand if they were all family, but Alex didn't have any family left, nor did he share any resemblance with the four muscular goons in the corner or the strangely stiff woman eyeing her drink suspiciously. They all knew Alex, that was for sure. Certain people looked at him like—James had difficulty articulating exactly what he thought—he was some sort of _savior_ or something equally as ridiculous. Others looked at him, eyes shining with respect. It was very odd, James mused. He didn't like odd. He didn't like mysteries. James was going to get to the bottom of this.

"Tom," James stopped his friend. He wore a determined look on his face, striding forth, eyes fixed on a person. James nearly choked when he realized it was another teenage boy chatting animatedly with Sabina Pleasure, Alex's girl. He had only ever seen the awkward, blurry pictures that Alex took.

"What?" Tom's attention swiveled onto James. He winced at the annoyance coating his voice. At this, Tom softened. Apologetic, he offered, "Sorry, I was just looking forward to hearing the rest of James-Number-Two's story."

James took another peek at the boy, who was now staring intently at the two of them. It was a little unnerving, and James awkwardly inched back.

"Did you need something?" Tom prompted him, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"Yeah," James gave the guests another sweeping look before diving into the heart of the matter. "Who are these people? How does Alex know them?"

Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. Guilt flitted across his face, so quickly that James wasn't sure if he had imagined it, "I have no clue. I just found them on Alex's Facebook. Why don't you ask Alex yourself?"

Alarmed, James shook his head, "No way! You know how Alex is. He'll just get angry that we've been digging into his personal life."

Tom shrugged, "Then talk to everyone. I'm sure they know a lot more than either of us do."

James stared intently as another flash of guilt crossed Tom's face. His shifty body language wasn't doing much to help him either. Tom was most definitely hiding something. He gave his friend a small smile, relenting with a, "Sure, I'll do that."

Tom flashed a smile back and waved a goodbye as he dodged a large man waddling by, rubbing his hands and chuckling softly to himself. Right. Not foreboding at all. James shook his head and watched as Tom tucked himself next to James-Number-Two, an easy grin on his face.

There wasn't much harm in trying to interact with the guests, James supposed. It wasn't like they would ever see each other again. He wrinkled his nose at the mere mental suggestion that he would ever spend his free time hanging around—he glanced around the room, eyes landing on a middle-aged man who spoke with a definitive American accent—brutes. James tore his eyes away from the man and in the opposite direction, towards the solitary female examining her nails. She was pretty, but James could instantly tell from the way her lips curled in an unfriendly scowl that she wasn't going to be much help. She paused in examining her nails, as if she felt his eyes on her. She assessed him for a brief moment, scrutinizing him first from his shoes and up, then turned away with a sneer, nose upturned. James decided that he didn't like her.

Instead, he swiveled towards the opposite side of the room, where four well-muscled men hungrily tore into their food, ribbing each other good naturedly. They didn't seem unfriendly, like the girl that was currently scoffing at the rest of the guests, but—James eyed their biceps—it probably wasn't a good idea to get onto their bad sides.

The four men looked up as he approached, sending him polite smiles tinged with an all too familiar expression of 'what the hell does this midget want'. James mustered up his most brilliant smile, "Hi, you must be Alex's friends! I'm James."

"Friends would be a stretch," one of the men shrugged as another, the shortest of the group, asked, "Another James?"

"I'm Wolf, by the way," the previous man held out his hand after an awkward pause. James took it, eyes bulging as the man basically cracked his knuckles for him. "We met little Double-O-Nothing a while back, when he came to…"

Wolf stopped abruptly as the man next to him elbowed him in the ribs. The four men peered at James curiously, with the same, creepy stare that James couldn't help but compare it to a horror movie. He nearly took a couple paces back, but he squared his shoulders, determination to oppose these large sacks of muscle, burning through him, "Went where?"

In unison, the men glanced over at the strict woman in grey. James turned to look at her too. The American was smiling almost _tenderly_ at the woman and the woman reciprocating the action with a subtle batting of her lashes. Ugh, James sincerely hoped they wouldn't start making out. No one needed to see _that_.

"Uh, it was a long time ago," Wolf said casually, the smile dropping from his face. "Oh, look who it is!" He brushed past James, the rest of the crew following in suit after giving polite nods towards him. They joined a _huge—_ James berated himself mentally at his subconscious judgement—man, whose laugh filled up the room and whose grin was just a touch too wide.

Alone, James frowned. They were hiding something from him, all right—just like Tom was. But what?

Looking around the room once more, he noted that Tom and Sabina had detached themselves from 'James-Number-Two' and instead, were talking with Jack. Perfect. James had to hold himself back so it wouldn't look like he was racing towards the boy.

"Hello!" James greeted cheerfully, plopping down on the couch, next to James-Number-Two.

"Hi," the boy replied, swirling his drink in the glass with one hand. James raised an eyebrow. Was that champagne? "Are you a damsel-in-distress as well?"

James spluttered on the air he was breathing, "Excuse me?"

The other James tilted his head, confused, "So you aren't?"

"No! Of course not. Why would I be a bloody damsel?"

The other James stared at him blankly, like _James_ was the one being stupid, "Well, 'cause Alex saves everybody." The unspoken _duh_ lingered in the air between them.

"What does that mean?" James asked, careful not to put too much eager curiosity in his voice.

But James-Number-Two's attention had wandered off. James followed his line of vision and nearly gagged. It was one thing to see girls fawning over his best mate. It was another thing to see a stranger admiring Tom's ass.

"I'm James," the boy was suddenly engaged in the conversation once more, grinning at him. "James Sprintz. Tom mentioned you were James-Number-Two?"

"Number two?" James squawked. He glared at the black-haired teen, gesturing animatedly as he shouted, "Tom, you complete arse! I'm James-Number-One!" He got a nonchalant handwave and a grin back from the teen. He turned back to Sprintz, "James Hale."

"Hale," Sprintz mused, taking a sip of his drink. "So, I was wondering—what's your friend Tom's type?"

James stared at the teen.

"For a friend, of course!" Sprintz said hastily, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red. "I have a friend who's really sad and lonely and single… and stuff. If Tom is free, he—I mean _she!—_ would be extremely ecstatic—er, interested."

A beat.

"Are you for real?" James moaned, his face flaming. Sprintz's earnest expression told him that he was. "Oh fine—yes, he's single! And that's all I'm telling you!" James stood and huffed his way away. "Teenagers these days!"

"Tell me about it," a flat voice responded, quite suddenly out of nowhere. James jumped, biting back the shout that had come to his lips, unbidden. It was the woman he had noticed earlier, and she was a hard woman to forget. Really, the blank expression she wore made it look like she was prepared to give a eulogy.

"I'm James," James said as a way of a greeting.

"I know," the woman's lips were pulled into a smirk that seemed nearly mischievous in nature. She didn't offer a name back, but instead pulled out a peppermint from a pocket. "I heard you were asking around about how Alex knows all of us."

Numbly, James nodded.

"Well, perhaps I can enlighten you," the woman said around her peppermint. "As you may know, Alex's uncle worked for a bank." A nod, "Ian and I worked together. When Alex came to settle Ian's accounts, he found a family in us." She gestured vaguely at Wolf and the goons, who were marveling over the gifts that Old Saint Nick had bestowed on them.

"That makes sense, I guess," James said, though it made absolutely no sense at all. Who the hell went to a bank to settle his dead uncle's accounts, then decided it would be a grand old time to hang around with his coworkers? Then again, Alex had always been an odd apple.

His eyes cut back to Sprintz, "What about them, then? That Sprintz mentioned something strange…"

The woman smiled mysteriously, something that James really was getting fed up with, "Yes, young Mr. Sprintz also asked me the same question." James studied her, suspicious. He didn't recall the two of them interacting. But then again, he had been late. "Apparently, Alex has quite the complex for saving people. Mr. Sprintz was lost, you see—he was visiting some relative or another. Alex saw that and decided to lend a hand. I'm sure the other stories are something similar. Your friend is a selfless one."

Admittedly, that did sound like something Alex would do. James relented in his suspicious expression, which involved him frowning heavily and knitting his eyebrows together.

The woman gave him another smile, this time more mischievous in nature, "But, Mr. Hale," James gave a little jerk at the use of his last name. "You shouldn't dig around in Alex's secrets. They're…" the woman paused, a dangerous glint entering her steely eyes, "classified."

She left him there, pondering over her words.

"You all right, there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," James' voice trailed off as he turned to his fair-haired friend. "No, actually. Your friend was saying something strange."

"Which one?" Alex helped himself to a bowl of crisps, avoiding James' eyes.

"The woman in the grey. Likes peppermints?" James gestured discreetly.

Alex turned calculating eyes onto him. He raised an eyebrow, "What did she say?" He tossed a crisp into his mouth.

"Something about your secrets?" James proceeded carefully.

"Don't have any," Alex muttered—the biggest lie James had ever heard.

James shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, she mentioned something curious."

Alex said nothing as he continued to munch on his food.

"She told me they were 'classified.' Does that mean anything to you?" James reached for a crisp, schooling his features into a mask of indifference.

Alex choked.


	15. Alex Rider

**A/N:** And here we have it! The last chapter of our CCC adventure. Thanks to our amazing authors and readers... who, I'm sure, had a fun time trying to guess my updating schedule...

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15\. ALEX RIDER

AUTHOR: wolfern

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Alex knew Tom was crazy. Everybody did. It was a fact of life, like rain being wet, or MI6 being bastards. Although Alex knew to expect the unexpected when it came to his best friend, he'd thought there would be a limit to that. When people said 'anything is possible', they didn't _really_ mean turtles would learn to fly. And similarly, Alex could conceive no possible way that Tom had somehow managed to contact the people Alex had been working with over the past year. Apparently he'd used Facebook, but seeing as Alex had purged his account… Maybe Smithers was in on it. Or, more likely, maybe the universe just warped to fulfil whatever expectations Tom had of it. Yep. That was probably it.

Beyond 'some of your bastard colleagues and other people Tom says you know', Jack kept mum on the topic of the guest list, so it was only mildly surprising to see the scowling face of Wolf, followed by his pack, at the front door. When a soldier rings your doorbell at five in the afternoon, it's probably not good news. When you've kicked him out of a moving plane, it's _definitely_ not good news. Thus it was that Jack answered the door, Alex settled into a shadowed corner. He wasn't hiding. He was merely not needed at the moment.

Of course, shadowed corners were where others also liked to dwell. Alex stiffened as Mrs Jones approached.

"Oh, no. I'm actually just here for the party, Alex."

Yeah, and Blunt was at Ian's funeral because he cared for the man. Besides, did Mrs Jones eat anything not containing peppermint? He struggled to imagine her holding a paper plate, let alone eating Tom's pizza. "Well, Tom made the food. You may want to have one of your goons check it before you take a bite." Maybe the sight would convince her it was an entirely inappropriate act for her to attempt.

Mrs Jones' face, meanwhile, had contorted into a position he was sure he'd never seen on her before. Were the corners of her lips… quirking upwards in a smile? No, surely. It was probably just an expression of extreme disapproval over his joke. She probably didn't know how to respond to one.

Even so, he made a quick escape to Tom before she could attempt to tell one herself. She'd probably self-combust.

The next people to arrive were Fiona, then Sabina. Alex sincerely hoped it had been the universe rearranging for Tom that had led to Fiona being on his Friend list (pun absolutely intended), and not through the actions of the girl herself. Sabina, now –

In what was probably a coordinated attack against his love life, K-Unit decided it was finally time to talk to him. Then, because they wanted to really hurt Alex, Wolf accosted Sabina, leaving Fox behind to ensure Alex didn't interrupt.

Well, okay. It _was_ quite funny watching Wolf try to talk to Sabina, who had met Yassen and therefore was quite unaffected by the soldier's otherwise intimidating presence. And nobody had to know that the gratitude Alex felt towards Tom for organising this event so Alex could meet everyone again on his own turf.

That gratitude, however, didn't last long with Tom's ribbing about the gift James Sprintz had given, and then of course Alex had to tease Tom for thinking James was 'totally cool'.

(Tom left in a huff.)

It really did seem like love was in the air. Alex spotted Mrs Jones and Joe Byrne making weird faces at each other – he supposed that was how old spies showed adoration, but it just made him want to retreat to the corner again… actually, maybe hiding in bright light was a better idea when dealing spies – and then he caught Fiona dancing with… Texas, from Australia. Opposites really did attract.

Later on, after receiving a figure of a white knight from Smithers – Alex still didn't trust that was all it was, but he guessed he'd find out later – the Australian soldiers spoke to Alex.

Remembering his time in Australia was like remembering a whole different life. Did he really go over a waterfall in a kayak made from the float of a seaplane? Did he really meet his Godfather?

Had Ash really killed his parents?

The group of three looked strangely unbalanced without their fourth member. Alex vividly remembered the face of Sparks lit by moonlight, his guitar clutched in a sweaty grip, after they picked him up from the minefield they'd led him to.

They repeated their promise of giving him a proper barbecue.

Back then, Alex had no intention of following through on that promise, wanting only to get on with the mission and never see Australia again. But now, shaking Scooter's hand, he hoped he could.

Something about that conversation must have sparked forgiveness in him, because he sought out Mrs Jones to hold a proper conversation with her. After confronting her about 'international relations' with Byrne, he considered his mission a success.

Smithers also had some measure of success with the glitter bombs, and they were a reminder to Alex to puzzle over his own figurine a bit later. When Fiona came over covered in glitter, with an obvious desire to leave, he had to stifle his laughter.

There was no stifling his grin when Sabina finally came over to talk to him. Every time he saw her, it felt like that was how it was meant to be. He'd only realised this on Christmas, seeing her resplendent in her silver gown, and he'd meant to tell her, but he could never think of the perfect time, and then they'd all almost drowned…

He never felt like he had to be anyone else when he was with her. That was why her disbelief when he confessed the truth about him and MI6 had hurt so much.

They talked about her father, and life in America, and countless other trivial things. It didn't matter what they talked about; just being in her presence gave him a fuzzy feeling like a glass of wine. They joked about Tom, and James Sprintz, and Fiona. He only hoped he wouldn't be caught up in any more schemes with MI6 – she wouldn't be able to visit him if he was haring off all over the world.

Sabina had just gone to get them drinks from the table, and Alex retreated to another corner.

But this corner was already taken.

Red and brown hair mingled and Jack and – was that Tamara? – embraced one another. More than embraced.

He must have made a sound, because it hadn't seemed like they would be coming up for air, but then Jack looked up and caught his gaze.

Swallowing hard, he decided to give them a bit of space to… to calm down before he reassured Jack he was happy for her, really. Having a bit of trouble staying calm himself, he left the room to splash some water on his face in the kitchen.

Of course, he couldn't just be left alone here, either. A man knocked on the door, and it took Alex a few moments to recognise him from the meeting in Blunt's office after killing Nile. The man's father, Sir Graham Adair, was the permanent secretary to the Cabinet Office. More importantly, Alex had watched this man crossing a bridge in an old video.

James Adair.

Alex's father had faked his death on that bridge to get out of SCORPIA.

"Got a moment?" James Adair asked.

Alex's father had saved this man.

"Sure," Alex said. "It's good to see you again, Mr Adair."

The conversation they had was… strange. Adair said he just wanted to check in with Alex, and Alex almost brushed him off, but then he remembered this man had also been a 'guest' of Julia Rothman, who had also experienced the horror of SCORPIA – probably even worse than Alex, whom they'd almost welcomed. They talked about Alex's missions, and then somehow Alex found himself telling James about Ash, and then James mentioned Alex's father.

That stopped Alex. Growing up with Ian, he'd occasionally thought about his parents and wished he could have known them, but now he knew the truth about them, and Yassen, and Ash –

His eyes were hot and his throat had a lump and he was breathing rapidly –

To his immense gratitude, James left him in peace.

Staring at the closed door of the kitchen, Alex wondered if he could stay in there forever. He just wanted to forget the past year, forget any of these people even existed. But that would mean giving up Sabina and James Sprintz – Tom would be devastated. Much as he wished it weren't so, his experiences had changed him.

So, summoning up the same courage that had helped him face Dr Grief, and Winston Yu, and Yassen Gregorovich, he went back to the party and studiously avoided retreating to the corners.

As always, Smithers helped him through gadgets, this time by unwittingly providing a deafening distraction that ensured all attention was off Alex.

Alex went to the easiest person first: John, who was James Adair's son. He knelt down so the two of them were in their own bubble, and introduced himself.

They spent a long time together, and by the time Tom pulled him away, Alex had almost stopped the hitch in his breath every time he said John's name.

When the party had died down a bit, Alex found himself standing near James Hale, who had once been one of his good friends, even inviting him to the south of France, but who had grown more distant over the past year. More accurately, it was Alex who had grown more distant. James was still amicable, but more than once Alex had felt the gap growing between them.

He decided to take the leap. "You all right, there?"

And the leap landed him in a mess.

Alex tried to figure out how to answer James about what 'classified' meant to him.

Should he tell or not? Maybe he could have said that someone else at the party spilled the secret – it would even be partly true – but Alex knew Mrs Jones was too perspicacious to fall for that. It was all her fault, anyway, for telling James it was 'classified'. Maybe she'd _wanted_ Alex to have an excuse to tell, but because she was so damn unapproachable Alex had no idea at all.

Eventually James seemed to take pity on Alex. "Is it to do with why you went AWOL on the Greenfields school trip?"

"Yeah."

Alex breathed in, then out, then in again. "The thing is," he said, "my uncle worked for the Government. He wasn't a banker."

James was silent. Alex wondered what he was thinking. So far he'd only ever told Sabina and Tom – one who believed him, and one who didn't. He wondered which one James would be like.

"What sort of Government worker?"

Alex knew James wasn't stupid. Even if he didn't fully realise the truth, he must have been pretty close to figuring it all out, especially after talking to Mrs Jones. Besides, if MI6 really wanted him to keep it secret from his friends, there were plenty of Official Secrets Acts to go around. "He was a spy."

His friend was nodding. "That doesn't explain what's been happening with you, though." He looked at Alex.

He had to tell. "I was recruited by MI6. I've been… helping them."

Unlike Tom, who chatted nonsense to cover up his thinking, or Sabina whose expressions had clearly shown on her face, James was inscrutable.

"And that's why you've been missing school and football training?"

"Pretty much."

James glanced at the party and Alex's guests, and Alex followed his gaze.

Finally, James said, "It's a good a truth as any. Consider me agnostic. Hope you make it back to training, though."

And really, that was the best Alex could ask for.


End file.
